


A Simple Souvenir of Someone’s Kill

by Spitfire007



Series: The Mad King Anthology [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, mad king au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spitfire007/pseuds/Spitfire007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron is on the brink of collapse. Former General Ryan has escaped from captivity after assassinating the King and his heir, leaving the king’s bastard son, Geoff, to take the throne. But with Ryan threatening war from the North with Geoff’s own forces and crucial players trapped in the crossfire, Geoff finds it difficult to conceal what really happened the night of his father’s murder. However, with the discovery of a wood sprite named Gavin, he just might be able to turn the tides of war in his favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Declaration of War

The soft breeze off the ocean makes its way through the open window and down over the bed to where the King’s Adviser and the Northern Army’s Second lay sleeping.

“Mmph.” Ray faintly smiles in his sleep, stretching out a leg before dragging it back in closer to the other person laying next to him. Dan doesn’t even budge. Ray always seems to be moving around, so he’s gotten used to it after three years together. Dan figures all that fidgeting has to do with the adviser’s active mind always running even when he is supposed to be sleeping.

He shifts, blinking awake for a few moments before nodding off again. Ray could sleep for days like this. Their wood and stone home is placed in the perfect area of the kingdom. They still feel the cool ocean air from the North, but they are south enough to escape the black, jagged stones that rip through the barren earth which is surrounded by the most violent seas Ray has ever seen. That landscape is what the Northern Edge is known for. Ray has spend a lot of time there but he is still Southborn at heart. During the winter, it was so impossibly cold that he cursed Dan for being born in such a harsh place. The very air seemed to cut into his eyes with thousands of icy needles every time a wave crashed against the stone structures that supported General Ryan’s Black Keep. Dan loved to walk Ray to the center of the long bridge connecting the Black Keep to the mainland and look down at the violent seas below. The soldier would always laugh when Ray pushed closer to him when the waves hit the pillars under them.

_“Those have been holding up this castle for hundreds of years. They are made of the black stone from our mines. Svartrston is the hardest structure known to man. The fearsome rock sprites chiseled the large ones for the first clan leader. We are safe up here,” Dan would tell him._

_“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to chance it.”_

_“The Sea Goddess has had her fill of sacrifices this month.” Dan shrugged, the right side of his mouth turning into a smile much to Ray’s annoyance._

_“Yeah, I think I will just keep my gods who don’t require blood.”_

_“She doesn’t, just bodies.”_

Ray doesn’t hate the Northern Edge where Dan was born, but their culture seems like it will be forever lost on him even with all the studying he has done the last few years. Ray truly enjoyed growing up in the Lowlands. The trees sheltered him from the glaring sun or the light snow coming down when he played outside. It was a wonderful place for a child to grow up. The fields were rich and never ending. He spent days just running through farms full of wheat, corn, and every other crop imaginable. If he fell down, his knees would impact rich earth not the rigid ground that Dan played on. There are still scars on Dan’s legs to attest to what happened to a clumsy Northernborn child who climbed too high, too fast.

Their house is settled along the Northern Edge boundary, but the ground is much softer. If they raise children here, Ray wouldn’t have to worry as much as he already does. The sun isn’t as bright here and the trees aren’t as tall, but it offers a nice mix. However, Ray knows that as much as he loves his home in the Lowlands, Dan is even fonder of his home in the Northern Edge. Dan always squints at the blinding sun when he comes to the King’s castle in the Lowlands with the Army General Ryan for their councils. If it wasn’t for all his chainmail and armor, he would probably get skin blisters from the lowlands' sun god.

The massive sandstone castle of the South always seems to hold much more warmth than the bleak black stone keep where General Ryan lives. Ray is forever grateful that the King’s castle is where the councils are held. Dan, like the warrior race that he was born into, always seemed to adapt much better than the King’s Adviser ever did.

Dan’s constant compromising to Ray’s wishes meant that it was a good day, nearly two, of hard riding to the Northern Edge’s main city, Svartrsund, where the Black Keep laid just offshore. The King’s castle may have been closer, but Ray had left strict instructions that he was _not_ to be disturbed for the next two weeks.

Dan’s arm, already wrapped around Ray’s chest, pulls him closer in reaction to Ray’s constant wriggling. Ray breathes a soft sigh and hopes that every single day of their vacation can be exactly like this. It was so hard for them to be able to get away from their respective duties. Dan had been promoted to Second when Ryan’s father had died in the same battle that had taken the King’s eldest son, the Crown Prince of the Lowlands. The battle was still fresh in everyone’s memory even though it had been almost five years. Ryan is now the General, taking his father’s position as the Head of the King’s army.  The battles with the other kingdoms have calmed down considerably, but Dan is always busy with a skirmish here or there, training new soldiers, and helping Ryan with the overseeing of the Northern Edge.

While Dan could get a few days off every once in a while, Ray is constantly working. He is the adviser to the King and therefore, his time is never his own. He spends his days listening to various representatives of the King’s subjects and going through countless scrolls of information. His job is to absorb all the information and then process it for the king. The King places a lot of trust in him, so usually time away is not something the King allows. However with the Northern Edge’s army under General Ryan’s command, the final foreign forces have been driven out of Theron, the combined country of the Northern Edge and the Lowlands. This break from a familiar enemy meant that everyone could take a breather for a few weeks. Ray had taken that opportunity to get away with the one he loved.

A hand over Ray’s mouth startles him from his dozing. He opens his eyes to see Dan crouching above him, a sword in his other hand.

“Someone’s coming,” Dan whispers crawling off the bed and slipping into his cloth pants. Ray blinks as he looks up at his pairbond. Dan pushes away from him, crouching slightly as he holds his sword close.

“What do I need to do?” Ray whispers, always feeling completely helpless when swords were drawn.

“Grab your dagger, and if they come near you, stab them and twist. Just like I taught you,” Dan says moving toward the window.

Ray strains his ears to try and hear whatever it is that Dan seems to be worried about. He can’t hear a thing except for the wind outside. Dan then straightens up, standing in front of the window much to Ray’s concern.

“Dan?”

“It’s alright, it’s just a Northernborn rider. But why is he this far south?” Dan asks, his mouth twisting with uncertainty.

“Maybe he wanted a little sun,” Ray teases, relaxing back into the bed.

Dan doesn’t find him as funny as usual, because he barely even cracks a smile as he keeps looking out the window. Ray frowns then moving off the bed and slipping into his own clothing. He walks over to where Dan is staring out the window.

“What is it?” Ray asks.

“He’s riding too swiftly. Something must be wrong. I hope it’s nothing with the Kingdom.”

“What else would it be about?” Ray says, hating how pessimistic he sounds, but it is a two day ride from the Black Keep after all. He knew that Dan had left orders to not be disturbed as well. Since no one would risk angering the Second, it had to be of great importance.  

Dan walks out of the house placing one of his swords into the the sheath that hung loosely on his hip. Ray follows to the door, placing his hand on the threshold begging any god that will listen that this is just good news and Dan doesn’t have to leave.

The rider jumps off his horse, showing his open palms as he walks up to Dan who does the same. It was one of the first Northernborn customs that Ray picked up, the traditional Northern greeting of open palms to show they were not armed. 

“I apologize, Second. I would not have come if it wasn’t of the utmost importance.” The rider explains quickly, noticing Dan’s annoyed face.

“What is so urgent?” Dan asks, ignoring the apology.

“Ryan has declared war.” The rider says simply, but Ray’s stomach drops. He tries to conceal what must be a devastated look when Dan turns around to look at him.

“I have to go,” Dan says, trying to fight the emotion threatening to play out on his face.   
  
“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ray sighs, closing his eyes. “I know.”

“Go tell the General that I will be there shortly,” Dan commands the runner, clasping the fellow Northernborn’s forearm before turning away to look at Ray. The rider takes off without any more instruction.

“Why did you tell him to send a message to Ryan if you are leaving now? You can ride faster than anyone. You will get to Ryan far quicker than him.”

“I thought I would give him a head start,” Dan smiles, touching Ray’s face who leans into the caress.

“You won’t be gone long right?” Ray tries to keep the his voice from cracking, but it’s useless.

“I will get everything settled and be back. I am sure it is the West again. We beat them already so this shouldn’t take too long, but I will be back soon. I promise you that. We will have our time together.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Ray breathes, closing his eyes and swallowing.

“Maybe I can stay at least tonight and then ride out in the morning.”

“No, you should go. I know you need to be there for the orders." 

Dan hesitates. “Are you sure?"

“Yes, go. You said you would come back soon so I trust you.” Ray’s proud of how he is holding it together. His voice has evened out.

His chest only burns slightly as Dan holds him tight. His hands only shake a little as he clings back at Dan. Ray swallows down what he wants to say, “Please don’t go”, and instead whispers, “Come back soon” against Dan’s lips. His eyes are only slightly misty as he opens them when Dan pulls away.

“I swear, only three or four suns and we will be together again. I will get everything together and then we will have all the time in the world.” Dan promises.

Ray doesn’t tell him that his stomach is raging because everything feels wrong about this. Something feels off. He just keeps his concerns to himself as he watches Dan mount his horse. Dan leans back to reach into his saddlebag and pulls out a blood red rose, the same as Dan’s family’s crest.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow to give you this. But maybe you should have it now.” Dan smiles handing the flower to his pairbond. 

“Thank you,” Ray croaks out, fingering the petals. “Now go."

“Four suns, Ray. Then I will be back. You have the North’s word,” Dan swears as he kicks his horse, and then he rides away.

*~*~*~*~*~

“Ryan has declared war against us,” Geoff says, adjusting the crown on his head as Ray blinks at him. He had only just arrived at the castle in Wetiakker. He sent his things with a servant to be unpacked in his room because he wanted to speak with Geoff as soon as possible after the urgent rider arrived at his home with Geoff's summons to return to the castle.

“Against the West? I thought we agreed peace.”

“We did, thankfully. They could be our allies since our armies aren’t that strong.” Geoff breathes, looking at the maps in front of him. Several are laid out on a huge table in the room.

“ _Our_ army is the Northern Army. The Northern Edge has been our force since your and Ryan’s grandfathers signed the treaty to bring peace between the two nations. There is no stronger army,” Ray urges, squeezing his hands tight to stop from rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“I know the history of the country, Ray. But Ryan has declared war. It seems that the madness that took his mother and his eldest brother has taken him now,” Geoff drawls.

“I saw him five days ago! He was perfectly sane then. We spoke,” Ray insists, his hands squeezing tighter. _There had to be some mistake._

“He declares war.”

“You said that. Why are you telling me this? Where is the King? Where is your father?”

Geoff loses his mask of indifference then. His face takes on a much sadder expression. His voice is barely a whisper. “Ryan came here the night before. I thought he wanted to rekindle what we had before little Mogar came along.”

Ray can hear the light hint of annoyance at the mention of Mogar’s name. “Did something happen with him and Mogar?”  

“I don’t know, but apparently they are on great terms again. He helped him escape from the dungeon last night.”

“He helped him do what?!” Ray’s chair scrapes obnoxiously across the floor as he stands up. He was already on edge, so it doesn’t take much more to get him on his feet.

“He broke Ryan out of the dungeon. My dungeon is supposed to be impenetrable. But apparently no one told Mogar that.” Geoff sighs pulling off the crown to examine it.

Ray notices it then. The crown with its intertwined golden branches which marked the King of Theron. Ray stares at it in Geoff’s hands.

“What happened to your father and brother, Geoff?”

“He killed them. Ryan killed them both. I don’t know why. He just--he went insane.” Geoff’s voice is quiet as he grips the golden crown in his hands. It's clear that several emotions are trying to overpower him.

“Ryan did? He killed the King? He killed your father? ...He killed _his_ King.” Ray tries again. His heart pounding in his chest. There is no way that Ryan could have done that. Ryan was the General of the North. He could be ruthless, heartless, and cruel in battle. But he served the King, just like his father did before him. He couldn’t have done any of this.

However, Geoff’s eyes tell a different story. They speak of betrayal and heartache. He places the golden crown on top of the maps before him making it circle the Northern Edge.

“Geoff, it must have been someone else,” Ray insists. He considered the General a good friend. He knew him well. He was Dan’s brother in everything but blood.  He did not kill without purpose and power was never that for him.

“It was Ryan,” Geoff whispers reaching out with a shaky hand to grip Ray’s hand as if to steady himself.

Ray shakes his head in disbelief until Geoff jerks on his arm slightly causing him to look up and pay attention.

“He did this too,” Geoff say causing Ray to gasp as he takes a step back in horror at the long jagged gash that was hidden under the collar of Geoff’s shirt and the bandages beneath. Geoff’s fingers constrict in pain as he reveals more of the harsh swollen sword wound.

“But why--?” Ray’s voice breaks halfway through. His stomach feels as if it is eating itself as it churns. Ryan was a loyal man. He may have not had any great affection for the King and the Young Prince, but Geoff. He loved Geoff. Their affair had been celebrated. The King’s bastard and the General of the North. It was a well-matched pair. The people had been saddened when they had learned of them drifting apart. Ryan would have never hurt Geoff.

“He said he was tired of the Northernborns being under the King’s thumb so he was going to make sure we weren’t able to rule his people anymore. I don’t know who he killed first, my father or my brother, but I know I was last. He came for me. Ray, I just...I thought he hadn’t been affected by the family's madness, but it looks like my hope was for naught.”

He goes quiet then, tears welling up in his eyes and slipping down his face. “I was in my chambers. I thought he had come to talk. I was so badly mistaken. I noticed the blood when he walked closer and asked if he was alright. That’s when it happened. It was so sudden. I guess my yell alerted the guards. They came and took him down. He was sent to the dungeon as soon as we found the bodies.”

The world begins to close in on Ray as he tries to make any sense of what is being told to him. Ryan _killed_ the King. Ryan, the young Second who took his father’s place when he was slain on the battlefield next to the King’s eldest son. He had taken up the sword to protect the kingdom for the King. _Why would he kill him now?_ He was celebrated in his land, thought of as one of the greatest Northernborn since they first established themselves in the Black Keep. The tales of his bravery on the field were legendary; even among his own men and friends. Dan told wondrous tales of Ryan taking on a full line of Western archers with only his trusted sword, Bani. His horse had been wounded too badly so he had just taken off running. The battle had looked all but lost until he let out a laugh and charged forward. This was not a kingslayer. But one detail suddenly caught Ray's attention, niggling at the back of his mind. He jerks his head up quickly.

“How many guards?” Ray questions, his heart pounding so loudly against his chest he's sure it's about to give out.

“What?” Geoff asks, caught off guard at the question.

“How many guards came in the room?”

“Four.”

“That’s not enough, they would have never been able to take him. He’s too strong,” Ray says simply.

“Maybe he was tired. There was blood all over my father’s room. It looked like there had been a struggle.”

“He’s too skilled with a sword, you know that. He must have been surprised otherwise he never would have been caught so easily.”

Geoff stares at Ray from across the table. “What are you trying to say?”

Ray backs down then. He shakes his head, reaching up to press the palm of his hands into his eyes. “I’m just trying to understand all of this. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

“I can imagine you have your own strain given who your pairbond is. Go rest tonight. You, Jack, and I will talk strategy tomorrow. Try to rest.”

Ray only nods. He turns aimlessly walking out of the the map room to his usual bed chambers in the castle. His head is spinning with all the information he was given and so much that is unknown. He wishes Dan was here to place his hand over his eyes like he always does when Ray's head began to hurt like this.

Dan. He needs to write him. He is sure Dan is trying to deal with his own uncertainty because of this horrific turn of events. He is the Second after all. It was true that Ryan had declared war, but killing the King and the Young Prince? That had to be a misunderstanding.

That’s it. Just a _huge_ misunderstanding. Ray will advise Geoff to talk peace. They will call a council. Everyone will have their say just like they usually do at the councils. Ryan and Dan will be in their usual seats around the table. Mogar will stand behind Ryan with his usual clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

Ray closes the door to his chamber. He pulls out a quill and something to write on. Just a quick letter to Dan letting him know that he is okay and then he would go to bed.

Everything will be settled in the morning.

*~*~*~*~*

_The King’s horses rode into the small village much to all the children’s excitement. Geoff could hear the happy yells of his friends as he finished cleaning the dishes his mother had instructed him to do._

_“Geoff! Geoff!” They suddenly began to shout making him drop the bowl he was cleaning to run outside._ ‘Please, don’t let anything have happened to my mother,’ _he begged the gods. His feet took him quickly out the door, but, much to his surprise, he slammed straight into a horse’s legs._

_Geoff fell back, splashing into a muddy puddle of water. The horse didn’t even seem to register his sixteen-year-old body. The rider looking equally unimpressed._

_"Geoff?” He asked looking down his nose as Geoff tried to brush off the mud and water from his worn leather pants._

_“I am, sir.” He said with much more certainty than he thought he possessed with such an intimidating force looking at him._

_“The King wishes you to live in his castle,” the man said simply turning his horse away as he began to ride off._

_“Sir! I don’t understand,” Geoff yelled quickly._

_“You are the king’s bastard, correct?”  the man said casually over his shoulder._

_Geoff’s whole body stiffened as his friends looked at him._

_“Is that true? Are you really the King’s son?” his best friend asked, gaping._

_“I am,” Geoff confirmed._

_“He’s the king’s bastard. The King has two sons. He is not one of them,”  The rider quickly corrected him. Geoff swallowed, looking down at the muddy road. He was well aware that the King was his father, but he was_ not _one of his sons. His mother frequently reminded him of that fact. She was always looking out the window toward the direction of the castle with such a lost look on her face. She always told Geoff how much she wished the King would recognize him so she could see him one more time._ “How handsome he was,” _she always told Geoff._ “If only he wanted you, maybe he would want me again too." _  
_

_Now had the time come? Did the King really want him? Could it finally be true?_

_One of the other riders trots up with an easy smile. He looks to be a few years younger than Geoff. “You can ride with me,” he said. His voice was smooth with an easy tone of command in it. Like he expected to be heard._

_“Thank you,” Geoff replied, turning to go back into his house._

_“Where do you think you are going?” the leader yelled causing Geoff to stop in his tracks._

_“I was going to get some clothes. These are filthy,” Geoff explained._

_“What do you expect from living in such a terrible place as this? We are leaving,” the lead rider said, taking off without a moment’s pause. The other horses followed suit except for the young rider who waited patiently with a smile._

_“Go ahead and change. This is a Northern horse, he can catch up with any of those Southborn horses.” The young rider smiled. Northern, so that’s what his slight accent was. Geoff changed quickly and was on the back of the horse in no time. He wraped his arms around the small rider making sure he didn’t fall off. It was a lucky thing too, because the second he was settled, the rider kicked his horse. They take off at such a speed that Geoff lost his breath, pressing his face into the nape of the boy’s neck as they caught up with the other riders._

_“My name’s Ryan,” the rider said, looking forward as Geoff squeezed him tighter. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.”_

_“You too.” Geoff muttered, feeling like his stomach was just floating in thin air from how fast they were going._

_Then it stopped as quickly as it began and he looked up to see the other riders looking at him strangely. He scooted back as much as he could, trying to make himself look strong._

_“He was clearly raised by a woman,” one of the riders snorted._

_“Some of our best warriors are women. They are definitely better at anything a Southborn man could do.” Ryan said confidently as they rode much more easily now across the rich farm land._

_“You Northernborn think you are so much more superior than us,” another scuffed._

_Ryan simply shrugged. “We are at fighting, horse riding, sailing, --”_

_“I will fight you right here,” one of the rider’s said jerking harshly on his horse’s reins. From where Geoff was behind Ryan, he could see Ryan’s mouth curl up in amusement as he slowed his own horse._

_“Ummm…,” Geoff started, wanting to object._

_However, everything was stopped when the leader rode in between them._

_“Ryan, you came with us because your father requested that you see more of the Lowlands,” he scolded, then turned to the other man, “And you do not want to be flat on your back because a twelve-year-old put you there.”_

_Ryan’s confronter, offended, rode to the front of the group. Geoff swallowed. Ryan was only twelve and he was already scaring grown men. The Northernborn really were as terrifying as they were rumored to be._

_The rest of the ride was uneventful except for when the rider who challenged Ryan had his horse spooked and it bucked him off much to Ryan’s amusement. Geoff was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, his father would be more excited to see him than his mother had thought he would. Maybe his father had never know about him? That would explain so much!_

_His feet stumbled slightly as he approached the throne. He turned back to see Ryan standing there, his sword hanging at his side._

_“Geoff,” The King addressed him causing the young boy’s breath to catch in his throat._

_“My King,” Geoff said standing as straight as he could, making himself look as tall as possible._

_Much to Geoff’s distress, the King didn't not look pleased. Geoff looked around at all the faces staring at him as if he had just spit in the King’s face. He bit down on his lip, his eyes begging the room to tell him what he was doing wrong. He turned slightly to catch Ryan at the corner of his vision. Ryan bent down slightly at the waist, waving a hand in front of him. Geoff only blinked._

_“Did you have such terrible upbringing that you don’t know how to bow,” a man remarked ,standing to one side of the king._

_“Bow,” Geoff asked, trying to keep his emotions in check._

_“My lord, he is unfit to even be in your presence. Why would you even want him in your court? He would only insult everyone with his despicable manners,” the man hissed at the King._

_“He is my son. He should be here with me,” the king smiled causing a woosh of relief to overtake Geoff’s body._

_“Thank you, my king,” Geoff whispered._

_“Of course.”_

_“But, my liege, if something were to ever happen to the princes, he would be in line for the throne,” the other man said looking at Geoff like he was still covered in the muddy water that he had fallen into earlier._

_“Don’t worry, my_ trusted _adviser. Geoff will never be king. Everyone knows bastards don’t become kings.”_

Geoff wakes from the memory-induced dream in a cold sweat. He shivers in the night as if the North wind made its way into his bed chamber. He sighs before drifting off again, hopefully to dream of a memory that tormented him less.

~*~*~*~*~

“The West will not send us any of their fighters. They are not looking forward to fighting the North so quickly again,” Geoff addresses the table.

“We don’t need the West. We need to talk peace with Ryan,” Ray says, staring at the two empty chairs where Ryan and Dan usually sat during the council meetings that the King called.

“Ray, peace is off the table. Ryan has declared war,” Geoff sighs.

“What are his terms then,” Ray asks. “Maybe we can negotiate.”

“He hasn’t stated them.”

“He has declared war, but he has not stated any terms. That isn’t something he would do. He always had terms. Ryan always spoke of only having to fight because the other side would not comply,” Ray insists.

“It must be the madness,” Geoff says offhandedly. “Jack, tell me where we stand with our resources.”

Jack sighs. “I don’t think that--"

“Jack, our resources,” Geoff urges.

“Well, as you know, our trade agreement with them has now been broken because of the war declaration. They depend on our goods and some of our food since they are in such barren lands. But they were a raiding people before the treaty with your grandfather so I am sure they can do that again.”

Geoff looks between Ray and Jack frustratedly. “You two have _nothing_ positive to tell me,” He spits,  “We can not give into a kingslayer. A _mad_ kingslayer at that!”

“A war with the Northern Edge is disastrous. Everyone knows that. It’s why the West doesn’t want to help us. They are still dealing with horrific losses inflicted by the Northern Army. I mean, that’s the whole reason your grandfather signed the treaty was to stop them from attacking the Lowlands. They are warriors. _We.Can.Not.Survive_ ,” Ray finally blurts out, gripping the council table as he stares at Geoff.

“So this is your advice? To just surrender? You make me think that maybe your loyalty lies with the North, with your pairbond, and not here in the South with your King.”

“I have been your father’s advisor for five years, I have never set him on the wrong path. My words to you are that you need to have a council with Ryan in a neutral place where you both talk about what transpired. I do not think that Ryan committed such terrible acts for absolutely no reason but to kill,” Ray protests, standing in defiance.

“You said so yourself, Ray. The North is too powerful, they are too dangerous. Why do you think so highly of them that you don’t believe that they would want more power?”

“Geoff! Ryan is not that person! You know him. He does not seek power. He takes orders like the soldier that he is. His only concern is his people and making sure that they are content,” Ray grits through his teeth. _Why wasn’t Geoff understanding this? Surely, he would be the first to defend Ryan._

“Which is why he has kept peace with my kingdom, it ensured that his people haven’t had to raid. He had plenty of wood to keep his people warm, and fresh bread to stuff their bellies. What if now he wants it all to himself and not have to deal with trading with us? Maybe he is tired of being the King’s attack dog?” Geoff questions. Ray wavers slightly.

“I still think we should have a council with them,” Ray insists. Jack nods in agreement.

“I declared war against the Northern Edge this morning,” Geoff says simply, dropping a small flyer in front of them. Ray grabs it in an instant.

_King Geoff of the Lowlands has declared war against the treasonous General Ryan of the Northern Edge._

_He will pay for his crime of killing the King and the Young Prince in the dead of night._

_His body and that of his guard Mogar will be strung up in the courtyard for all to see as the madness which plagued the Black Keep has spread to the Sea Witch’s son._

_Our borders will now be closed to all Northern born._

_Take up your weapons and defend the name of your King._

_All Hail The True King!_

The paper shakes in Ray’s hands. “This is not a simple declaration of war, Geoff."

“King Geoff, please.”

“Tell me you didn’t release these. Tell me you didn’t send riders to the villages. Please,” Ray begs.

“Of course I did. War is upon us, Ray. We can not hesitate or we will lose our ground,” Geoff says, smiling.

“It’s already gone, Geoff. _This._ Calling his mother the Sea Witch, you know that term is a sensitive subject in the North. She was loved by her people. Her suicide into the sea was a tragedy for that country. The Sea Witch was created so that she was still with them, she is _still_ controlling the seas and looking out for her people. Many believe she is the Sea Goddess now! To twist it like this. They will be even more aggressive. Why didn’t you consult me? I am the adviser. I am in charge of all the decrees.”

“I felt that you were not in the right state to be writing anything at this time. You are still attached to the North.”

“Of course I am, my pairbond is the Second of the North. Everything about this was handled completely wrong. We need to take a step back and reevaluate everything. We can fix this,” Ray’s hands are shaking where they are still gripping the edge of the table.

The calm, but worn expression leaves Geoff’s face. He nods toward someone behind Ray. Suddenly, he is grabbed by two guards. Ray struggles, but he’s not a warrior. He fixes his eyes on Geoff, who sighs exhaustively.

“I need you to swear your loyalty to me,” Geoff says as he walks over to where Ray is being held.

“You know I am loyal to you, Geoff. I have lived here my whole life. The South is my home. But I also know that the North is not our enemy!” Ray pleads; he can feel bruises forming under his skin where the guards are gripping him tighter the more he moves.

“King Geoff. It’s King Geoff now. My father and brother have died at the hands of Ryan. I will have him killed, and his Mogar as well to settle the debt.”

“What the fuck did Mogar do?” Ray demands.

“He threatened my life.” Geoff growls, his patience nearly gone now.

“When?”

“The night he broke Ryan from the dungeon. He came into my room after, held a knife to my throat and told me he would kill me if I ever touched Ryan again. I should have added that in the reports. Well you can do that for me. I need you to make sure that our people are informed about what has happened. I have a feeling that they will be getting conflicting reports from the other side.”

“I cannot slander Mogar’s name. In the North, he is their best fighter, but here, in the South, he’s nearly a god. They believe he is immortal. They think he is possessed by magic that has long since died out. Geoff, you can not be serious. Mogar is...Mogar is the South’s warrior just as much as he is the North’s. He represents protection and hope. They will not turn on him.” Ray tries to explain as if Geoff doesn’t already know this. He had to. Geoff had heard Ryan and Dan both talk about how amazingly skilled the young teenager is. He is some sort of war god the people said. He eats people’s souls. He only has to show up to a battle to make people run away. The Western warriors said that he was possessed by the spirit of the bear skin he wore into battle. They claim they saw claws come out of his fingertips and he roared as if he could shake mountains. The fact that he broke into this castle’s dungeon just seemed like standard procedure. Of course he could, he was Mogar. Ray could spend another hour or two just spewing the myths surrounding young Mogar, but Geoff’s hand comes across his face. A single drop of blood falls onto the floor where Ray is standing.

“I do not need you to lecture me about him. I know all about Ryan’s little leashed dog. Now, I am going to have you sent to the dungeon. You need to cool down and rethink how you are going to address your new king when you are released,” Geoff informs him.

“Please,” Ray manages, his mind has gone fuzzy as he tries to figure out what his life has suddenly become.

“Take him,” Geoff instructs, turning away as he goes back to the table. “Jack, what do you have to say?”

“I think that I would like to speak to Ray,” Jack says his voice strong.

“After he cools off,” Geoff says and the door is slammed behind the guards as they drag Ray off to the dungeon.

~*~*~*~*

“We found this letter when we were searching his room, my king,” a servant says handing Geoff the letter Ray wrote.

Geoff breaks the seal and pulls out the letter.

_Dan,_

_I wanted to send you a letter so you would know that I am doing okay._

_I know you worry over my well being constantly so don’t fret, I haven’t been shackled in chains because I am paired with a Northernborn._

_Geoff is understanding and kindhearted, he will make sure that everything is settled in the right way._

_Please don’t worry._

_I will see you soon._

_Take care of yourself._

_Your pairbond,_

_Ray_

Geoff places the letter in a new envelope and seals it with Ray’s seal. 

“Send it to the North, make sure it gets there. We don’t want the Second to come banging on our door before this even begins,” Geoff orders.

“Yes, my king. Is there anything else?”

Geoff shakes his head and then stops. “Yes, send an assassin to the North.”

“Who is the target, my liege,” the servant asks.

Geoff only smiles as he writes the name down on a piece of paper to be sent West along with the money to pay the hired killer.


	2. Mogar Sends His Regards

The dungeons are dark and dank, much like Ray imagines they are everywhere. He hadn’t had much occasion to visit the King’s dungeon, only briefly before when he would meet Mogar and Ryan at the dungeon entrance, Mogar’s hands still covered in blood, for reports of information gathered.

Ray doesn’t believe in torture, but he believes in results. And Mogar always got results. The dungeon was not usually full, only holding maybe seven people at any one time. But now it is barren, except for Ray. The guards shoved him roughly into the metal cage, turned and left without a word. He could feel the bruises from their rough hands setting in on his upper arms and reflexively rubbed at the soreness.

His cell is next to the one that must have been Ryan’s. He can see the busted lock and the damaged door. Mogar must have had an easy go of getting out of the castle. With his skills, none of the few remaining Southborn guards would have stood a chance, they probably hadn’t even tried. Even if there had been an army between Mogar and Ryan, Mogar would’ve gotten to Ryan.

Ray looks around at his “home” for the foreseeable future; after all, who knew when Geoff would realize that he was making another wrong decision. There isn’t much to see. Lining the walls of the dungeon are metal cages. Each one has straw strewn across the floor. Not for his comfort, Ray knows, but for easy cleaning. This is the lowest security dungeon. Only one metal door and a heavy wooden door separate the prisoner from freedom. Further proof that Geoff is a fool. If he’d wanted to keep Ryan in, he should’ve put him in the pit or chained him to a wall, anything but stuck him in a roomy cell, with an easily smashable lock.

Ray kicks at the straw strewn around the cell. It doesn’t look particularly soft, but maybe he could make a bed of it in the corner. Anything was softer than the stone floor, he’d have to leave at least some of the straw for relieving himself in. He rubs at the bridge of his nose, sighs, and then starts pushing the straw into the far corner. He supposes he is lucky he’s not in his courtly clothes. His comfortable riding clothes are good for imprisonment, not that he is an expert.

The groaning of the huge wooden door pulls him out of his frustrated musings and Jack appears through it. He looks paler than he usually does, the warm pink is gone from his cheeks. In contrast, his full and already brilliantly red beard clashes against his wan cheeks and seems all the more bright for it. Jack approaches Ray’s cell, stepping lightly as if bothered by the silence of the dungeons, as if he’s attempting to limit his disturbance of the thick quiet. He pauses briefly in his progress when his eyes catch sight of the twisted mess that was once the lock on Ryan’s cell as well as the bent metal of the door. But he quickly regains his composure.

“If you’ve come to apologize, I’m not really in the mood for it,” Ray says. “I recognize, of course, that very little of this is your fault,” Ray acknowledges when he sees Jack’s face twist in remorse. He turns his back on him and kicks at the straw, thinking of his soft shared bed back towards the North, with its heavy drapes that blocked out the world.

“Look,” Jack begins, “I do apologize for what happened, but that’s not why I came here.” Ray lifts his head and turns to Jack.

“And why did you come here,” Ray asks.

“To tell you what Ge-- The King-- won’t,” Jack replies. He takes a long moment, opens his mouth several times to begin, but closes it just as quickly-- probably at a loss for where to begin. Ray is beginning to lose his patience. He’s in a dungeon for trying to do his job; for trying to prevent a horrific war at the beginning of Geoff’s reign. He wants to be home. He wants to not have to deal with any of this. He doesn’t feel safe. While he doubts that Geoff will have him executed, he doesn’t define security as locked in a dungeon with no recourse for justice. It’s making him tense. He feels threatened, and the fact that he doesn’t have all of the details of what exactly is going on only makes it worse. He clenches his jaw, frustrated with the situation and with Geoff and Jack’s silence.

“Out with it,” Ray snaps.

“Geoff told Ryan to kill everyone.” Jack stares at Ray; Ray stares back.

“What,” Ray says, more of an exclamation than a question, but Jack answers anyway.

“He had Ryan commit the regicide, so that he could take the throne. He promised Ryan the North.”

And suddenly everything made sense. Ryan is noble and loyal, but his loyalty to his people is first and foremost. Ryan, with his love of the Northernborn, never would have turned down the opportunity to free them from the treaty that forced them into a position of servitude to the kingdom.

But _Geoff_ , for Geoff to commit regicide. To kill his father and younger brother? Ray pauses to think of how often the Old King and the Young Prince constantly brushed Geoff aside, unconcerned with his feelings and desires. Geoff, after all, was a bastard. He was no heir. However, imprisoning Ryan who had done his bidding, served him loyally--regardless of the reasons, that was a poor decision. He should’ve killed him when he had the chance if nothing else.

“And so, he imprisoned Ryan to hide his tracks? What, did he think Ryan would stay silent, sit pretty in a dungeon,” Ray wonders aloud.

“No, he intended to pin it on Ryan, then pardon him within a few days. He thought it would make him seem merciful, the perfect king,” Jack answers.

“That’s the--,” Ray stops, at a loss.

“stupidest, foolhardiest, most poorly thought out,” Jack supplies.

“Yes, Yes! All of that and more. Just why did he think that that would work,” Ray exclaims, sitting on his gathered straw.

The plan was foolish enough, to think that Ryan would wait for Geoff to denounce or pardon him. But to think that pardoning Ryan would make Geoff seem merciful? All he would have accomplished was to look like a pardoner to a murderer of a king who had been decent by all accounts. The only hope the plan had was to kill Ryan that night. Geoff, the idiot optimist that he was, hadn’t factored that in. He hadn’t thought that Ryan would betray him, even after being betrayed himself.

“Mogar came a few hours after Ryan’s imprisonment. He only came across two guards, who laid their swords on the ground and ran,” Jack tells him, eyes on the shattered lock, the bent door. “They told the rest of the guards, as well as Geoff, and I quote ‘he was like a demon, with death in his eyes.’”

Ray shakes his head, smiling. Geoff had always underestimated Mogar. When Mogar had appeared, five years ago now, he had only been ten. Ray had heard about it from Dan, who was tasked with training him to be a true Northernborn. Geoff had been dimly aware of Mogar’s presence. He had, of course, heard from Ryan about a boy he’d found with potential who was doing well in his army. Within three years, Ryan promoted him to being his personal bodyguard. To Geoff, he was just a child. In the North, he was a true son of the sea. _Goddess-sent._ And the South, less superstitious in general, seemed to under the impression that he was immortal. Mogar practically had his own mythology based around him. According to Dan, Mogar’s name-- which Ray was sure wasn’t his own-- was from an old Northern myth. The sort of myth the South had hundreds of years before, when the old language, still used sparingly in the North, was prevalent. Ray has an inkling that the fact that Mogar, now sixteen-years-old, is reportedly sharing Ryan’s bed also encouraged some jealousy on Geoff’s part.

“But as you can see, they’ve made your job hard for you,” Jack says.

“What job,” Ray asks.

“You’re going to have to help, Ray. You have to spin this and make the King seem justified in war against the North,” Jack says, stepping closer to the cage.

“No. Just No,” Ray says plainly, “I’m not even sure I could spin this into a positive light, and I don’t want to. He _imprisoned_ me, Jack, for asking questions, which is my job. If he won’t be straight with me, how am I supposed to do my job?”

“I know this seems unfair, but, Ray, you swore fealty to the King, you have to do what he asks,” Jack said.

Ray sighs heavily, closing his eyes. “Jack, I want to be alone. I need to get acquainted with my cell. I have a feeling I’ll be here for a while.”

Jack huffs, probably rolling his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it then,” is Jack’s terse reply. Ray listens to his footfalls, and then the door scraping against the stone floor before he opens his eyes.

_What was he supposed to do now?_

*~*~*~*~*~

For two weeks, Ray’s only visitor is a daily guard to bring him bread and water. The bread fluctuates between dry, burnt and too doughy--the cook’s throw offs. The water is clean though, and usually cool. It helps to wash what little bread he can eat down. Last week, he was sent a bread so doughy, it made him sick for a whole night. He sicked up in his cell so violently they had to move him two over, to the other side of Ryan’s busted cell. After that, he refused doughy bread. Ray, exhausted and shakey, had laid on the cell’s sparsely covered floor. He couldn’t bring himself to move the straw to the corner.

Today, though, no bread had been brought that morning. “Have they forgotten me,” Ray wonders aloud. His voice bounces around the room. And it’s a sort of empty comfort, hearing someone talk, even if its just himself. For the first few days, Ray had recited everything he could think of aloud. Beginning with _The History of the Kings of Wetiakker_ and moving slowly, brokenly to his vows to Dan, spoken before the sea. By that point, his voice was shattered by lack of water and exhaustion, but every time he’d stopped, the walls seemed to draw in on him, and air fled his chest in sharp, shallow breaths.

Now, the silence is typical, not as threatening as it had been before. He had found that whenever the walls seemed to close in, he could just sing a little and they would back off. He didn’t know many songs, just the dirty ones Dan sang to annoy him and two songs of the sea goddess. It didn’t seem right to sing the sea goddess’s songs here, so he pieced together what he remembered of Dan’s bawdy ones. He would sing a small part of the chorus every time his thoughts started to become too dark, and it always made him feel sane again.

He is singing about a loose Southborn boy when the door to the dungeon scrapes open and Geoff steps in, flanked by two guards.

The first night Ray spent in the dungeon he had rehearsed what he would say if he ever saw Geoff again, but, in the moment, all the air leaves his lungs and all he can think is _thank the goddess._

Ray looks at him. Geoff is much the same as he ever was. His beard is scruffy, too short and patchy to trim and shape, more like he had skipped a shave somewhere along the way. Ray had often wondered if he had to perfect letting it grow only to that length. It suits him, in a strange way. His hair is unkempt, as if he’d rolled out of bed. Ryan had once told him, before he and Geoff had drifted apart, that it was because Geoff was always rolling out of bed from whoever had dragged him there. “After all, why fix your hair when you’re expecting another fuck in two hours time at the most,” Ryan had said, laughing. Ray had thought the joke crude, but Dan had laughed until he wheezed at Ryan’s deadpan tone.

He wears his clothes sloppily, Ray notes too. But it seems to be out of inexperience rather than any sort of laziness or personal style choices. He hadn’t been raised in the castle, after all. And he hadn’t spent much time in court after coming here. He probably had no idea how the heavy garb of a king was worn. He is still wearing his crown, imperiously. It sits crooked on his head, Ray closes his hands into fists to stop from correcting it. After all, he thinks, looking at the guards, he’d probably lose a hand before he can correct Geoff’s sloppy clothing.

Geoff holds up a letter in his right hand. Ray squints at it.

“If you can’t see it, step closer,” Geoff says, his lowborn accent forcefully squashed out. Ray can still hear it, but Geoff probably thought he sounds exactly like a proper noble. He tries not to comment on it. Ray steps forward and looks to the letter again, and nearly runs to the edge of the cell.

“That’s Dan’s seal,” he says, reaching between the metal bars. He gets maybe two inches out of the cage before the letter is pulled from him and Geoff slaps his hand like a child.

“Give it to me,” Ray insists. Holding his reddened hand close to his chest. “Geoff, you have to give it to me. You know the laws concerning pairbonds.”

“I am your king, you can’t just call me Geoff,” Geoff spits, “and as far as I’m concerned there are no laws concerning anything about pairbonds with Northernborns.”

Ray bites his tongue against an angry reply, breathes through the rage swelling in his chest and says calmly, “My King, may I have my letter?”

“No,” Geoff says simply. The anger Ray had hoped to swallow, flares--star bright-- and swirls in his chest. “If you want this letter, you’ll have to work for me.”

Ray’s first thought is to refuse. He wants Dan’s letter, but no doubt this won’t be the last letter. Despite the fact that his and Dan’s correspondence is protected by both law and human decency, he’s sure Geoff will use this bargaining chip again in the future if he gives in. But he’s been in a dungeon for two weeks now. He barely feels human anymore. He hasn’t washed in that time, he’s using straw as a toilet and is eating bread fit for neither prisoners or dogs. And he doesn’t have Dan. Anything from Dan would be goddess-sent at this point.

And Dan, how upset would he be? Waiting for a return letter, he was probably out of his mind already. But Ray doesn’t want to do work to defame either Dan or Ryan, he believed that Ryan was in the right, that he wasn’t mad. He was brutal and coarse at times, but never above the call of duty. And even if he did agree to defame Ryan, it would only be a matter of time before he was asked to do the same of Dan.

But Geoff, he clearly didn’t understand politics. The way he was going about it, he was stumbling in the dark. He didn’t have to play Geoff’s game. Ray could be very sneaky when he wanted to be, could fight in such a way that Geoff had no idea what he was doing, or how. He could make it seem like he was defaming Ryan, when he was making him seem impossible to kill. He already had a good idea of how to do it, and Geoff would walk right into it.

“Okay,” Ray says, “okay, I’ll work for you.” Geoff gestures to the guard on his right, who steps forward and unlocks the door.

“Clean yourself up, and meet me in the council room to discuss what I want from you,” Geoff orders, walking away from Ray and toward the exit of the dungeon.

Ray would normally have been more offended, but he honestly is just thankful. He wants nothing more than to bathe and change. And maybe to read Dan’s letter before walking into the council room.

“My King,” Ray begins and Geoff turns, “my letter?”

“You’ll get your letter when you deliver work,” Geoff says, and then he leaves. One guard is left behind to ensure that the dungeon is locked after Ray leaves, little point in that.

The moment he climbs the steps from the dungeon, all thoughts leave his head. It’s daylight outside. The autumn air breathes cooly through the open windows, and he can see the first hints of leaves changing on the trees. His hands are shaking and he feels unbelievably weak in this moment. From his position within the castle, it’s placement high on one of the south’s rolling hills, he can see out beyond the fortifications of the fort itself, beyond the internal marketplace and village. He’s facing South, he knows. The land to the North is flatter, with smaller trees and more rocks. He resists the stupid urge to run to the opposing end of the castle and look North, hoping to see Northernborn armies pillaging their way South. The dark rock of Svartrsund and the Black Keep are far to the North. If Ryan’s smart, which Ray knows he is, he wouldn't have even thought of leaving the Black Keep yet. His armies won't be heading South anytime soon.

For the first time in his life, though, Ray wishes to see the jagged spires and windowless walls of the Black Keep. He never thought that after having been born in the Lowlands and raised in this very castle; he wouldn’t see it as his home anymore. Geoff wanted to know if he was still loyal and some part of Ray was. However, his moral compass was much stronger than any feelings of loyalties to the new king. Ray desires to go North. He wants to be on the back of his horse, with Dan laughing at the uneasy way she shifts under Ray’s command. Following Ryan’s sweet-natured, bay palfrey as it picked its way across the treacherously rough ground of the North, his terrifying gray destrier left in stable.

But the guard that had remained behind is staring at him, and will no doubt report to Geoff if he appears to be moved. Stiltedly he turns from the window and begins to walk in the direction of the Counselor to the King’s room.

His rooms are much the same as he left them, but the letter he had been writing to Dan is “mysteriously” missing from his desk and his notes have clearly been moved and put back, but hurriedly and in the wrong order. He didn’t have the capability to care much unfortunately.

Opening his door, he spies the closest servant and orders hot water to be brought to his room for a bath. Within no time, buckets of fire-warmed water are being dumped into his  tub. He sighs in relief and thinks of Dan’s letter wondering what might be in it. In a less desperate time, Dan’s letters were enjoyable and frequently not fit to be read by anyone but him. Often his written frankness left Ray blushing and trying desperately to write something equally exciting, but more often than not-- his attempts ended up in the trash.

He doubted the new letter would be very sexually exciting. Even if it were, he doubted he would be up for it.

“Sire, your bath is drawn,” the servant says. And he turns, sighing in delight as he sees the steam rise from the bath.

“Thank you, honestly, I don’t need to be attended,” he replies and begins drawing off his clothes as the servant makes his way quietly out of the room.

Ray makes his way up the steps and dangles his foot over the rim of the tub. He breathes and submerges his right leg to the knee and then does the same with the left. It’s almost too hot, burning his legs slightly. The rest of his body reacts to the temperature difference, throwing up goosebumps all over his flesh. He slowly lowers himself, breathing out quiet little ‘oh’s as new cool skin meets hot bath water. He has never felt anything more wonderful in his life.

He splashes the hot water up his torso and rubs at his chest, across the small smattering of hair in the center there. He used to shave it off, as well as the hair on his legs, before Dan had told him he liked it. He figured it was a small enough thing, something to surprise Dan with. After all, it was less work for him.

He soaks, happily for a few more moments before taking up the Eastern made soap and rubbing it to lather. The finest moment in his life, to date, takes place when he washes his filthy hair clean. As he leaves the tub, he takes with him a small cup of the water and, carefully with a straight razor, sculpts his facial hair, which had exploded during his stay in the dungeons. He finally feels human again.

His clothes come next and he arms himself carefully in his court clothes. Proudly wearing Dan’s sigil on his left breast, he strides from his room and to the council chambers. Although he was trained with a dagger by Dan, Ray only ever feels truly protected when he wears the insignia of his pairbond.

When he reaches the council chambers, Geoff is waiting for him and snarkily, he thinks: _rookie mistake, a king waits for no one._

“My king, thank you for your patience. I am indebted to you,” Ray begins, making sure to uphold all the pleasantries. He walks to his place at the council table, nodding to Jack who was already seated.

“Cut the crap, _honored counselor,_ and get to the point,” Geoff says tersely.

Ray keeps his court smile in place and asks, “What do you need, my king?”

“Ryan sent his demands finally,” Geoff spits, sliding a thick envelope across the table to Ray. Ray opens it, scans the first page, and forces down his smile

_To the Lowlands’ King’s bastard Geoff and his father’s council,_

_The Northernborn require four things from the seat of the south’s king._

_First, we demand that Ryan, second son of the North, rightful successor to the Black Keep, and General of the Northernborn armies be absolved of all crimes against the Southern crown. We demand that Daniel, first son of the Blood Rose Clan and Second of the Northern armies be absolved of all crimes against the Southern crown. We demand that Mogar, only son of the Sea and protector of the keeper of the North be absolved of all crimes against the Southern crown._

_Second, We demand that the Honored Counselor to the King, Ray, pairbond to Daniel of the Blood Rose Clan be escorted to the North. He will be escorted to the North by no less than five companions and delivered in good health._

_Third, We demand that Geoff, the Southern King’s bastard, dedicate one hundred bodies from his own armies to the Sea in memory of the Sea_ Goddess, _whose honor he has impugned._

_Fourth, We the Northernborn demand that Ryan, Second son of the North, rightful successor to the Black Keep, and General of the Northernborn armies be recognized as the King of the Northernborn. This shall end all intra-political ties with the South, making the North a free and independent nation unto its own._

_If these requirements are not met, then Northernborn armies will ride South, taking land as they find it and razing all opposition to the ground. They will abandon the desire for treaty and return to their pillaging heritage and take from the South what is needed again._

_This is the pledge of the Northernborn._

Ray stares for a long time at the signatures below the final line. Ryan’s beautiful and looping hand, Mogar’s choppy and stilted script, and Dan’s tight scrawl. The King of the Northernborn’s council is just those two, and Ray always saw it being a good fit. Both Dan and Mogar have good minds for warfare, and after all Ryan could worry about cultural and resource advisers when his kingship was assured. If he even needed them, Ryan knew the North better than anybody. His intelligence was astounding and he had a good mind for politics, diplomacy and kingship-- not just war.

But one thing is sure, if they didn’t take this olive branch, the South would be annihilated.

“Well,” Geoff prompted, impatient, “what do you think?”

“I think we should agree, but I know that you won’t accept that.”

“You’re fucking right I won’t accept it,” Geoff yells, pounding his fist on the table. Ray flinches. He’s only a foot from Geoff. Yelling is not necessary.

“My king, I only answered what you asked of me. The decision, as always, is yours.”

“I plan to go to war if Ryan won’t compromise,” Geoff says sullenly, and Ray bites his tongue. Ryan was compromising. That’s what initial demands were, a springboard from which to argue and negotiate and debate. Not that there was much wiggle room to work with. The most he could ask for would be a diminished sacrifice, or perhaps a council ship or diarchy rather than a separation of states.

“My king,” Jack begins, sounding absolutely exhausted, “we do not have the resources for a war. We would be destroyed. We don’t have soldiers to fight, we’ve relied on the North for defense for decades.”

“We can train our own,” Geoff asserts, and Ray outright laughs. Two weeks in the dungeon has made his bitterness bubble too close to the surface no matter how hard he tries to push it down.

“Lowland farmers against the Northernborn,” he asks. Northernborn were trained from the moment they could stand and hold a sword at the same time, both men and women equally skilled in combat. Every person over the age of six was a threat in the North. All could fight, and all were deadly. Comparatively, the South was made of wealthy landowners, some of which owned ornamental swords unfit for battle, and farmers.

“Even if we weren’t faced with the disparity in skill, my king, we have nothing to arm them with,” Jack insists. “The Northernborn make their own weapons or receive them in battle. The Northern mines are overflowing with metals to make swords with, all the metal we have depends upon treaty with either the Easterners or the Northernborn. And even if we had metal, we’d have to find enough trained blacksmiths to arm an entire army.”

“Even then,” Ray continues, “Do you intend to arm the peasants? There’s a reason we restrict weapon ownership to the ruling classes. You’ll have a civil war _and_ a peasant’s revolt on your hands.”

“Shut up, both of you, shut up,” Geoff screeches. “You,” Geoff says emphatically, pointing in Jack’s direction, “find me soldiers, find me weapons, find me metal, find me blacksmiths. I don’t care if the soldiers are peasants. Melt the metal from cart wheels if you have to, just get it done.”

Jack stares at Geoff for awhile, his mouth agape. “What are you standing there for,” Geoff says, “go do what I told you to.” Jack stands from his chair. Ray watches his measured steps to the door. Careful to hold emotion in, too careful-- they broadcast rage to everyone in the room. Ray glances at Geoff. _Well, they broadcast rage to some of us,_ Ray thinks bitterly. The door swings shut behind Jack, and Geoff turns on him.

“Do you need another couple of weeks in the dungeon,” Geoff spits. Ray can see the spittle flying from his mouth in rage.

“No, my king, I do not,” Ray replies, feeling like a child being scolded for something his brother did.

“Then you will help me defeat them with words, that’s what you do isn’t it,” Geoff says.

“I had figured you would refuse to accept any demands Ryan sent, so I’ve already contemplated a few angles,” Ray says, his heart in his chest. This is the moment that his freedom depends on. If Geoff senses what he plans to do, he’ll be spending the rest of the war in a dungeon or worse.

“Good, I’m glad you’ve decided to do your job,” Geoff replies, turning to listen.

“I thought, since you’ve already laid the groundwork for it, we could play up Ryan’s madness. But, we should stay away from family links. It dulls the effect. If you say, ‘well, his family is crazy, so he’s crazy’ that will make people question the wisdom of being allied with him all these years,” Ray begins, “you want to make it appear that you are solid while he is shifting.”

“That makes sense,” Geoff says, scratching at his scruffy chin.

“I think the best way to do that, would be to play up the danger of his association with Mogar,” Ray says, knowing that his plan has worked the moment he sees the look in Geoff’s eyes.

“Yes, that’s excellent. I knew I could trust you, Ray,” Geoff says quickly, “You should get to work on this immediately, start drafting missives for riders. And send my reply to Ryan, immediately.”

He turns to leave, but stops just as quickly. “I nearly forgot,” Geoff continues. He digs Dan’s letter out of the papers scattered on the table, and tosses it to Ray. “You can bring me your reply alongside the missive,” he finishes and disappears through the council room doors. Leaving Ray to clutch his letter.

*~*~*~*~*~

The rider could see the Black Keep from miles away, so he shouldn’t have been shocked at the size of the towering black castle. From the other side of the bridge, the Black Keep seems immeasurably large. It was a mess of jagged spires made from the deep crystalline black stone that the Northernborn called svartrston, the hardest material known to man. The Northernborn told a story of how the rock sprites themselves had shaped the castle and the massive bridge connecting it to the mainland out of great masses of svartrston. The rider had to admit, from this close-- it seemed likely.

He sets off across the svartrston bridge, expecting to hear the rough clopping of his horse’s hooves against the smooth surface of the stone. But the Great North Ocean’s waves crashing under the bridge were much louder than anything the rider had ever heard.

It was a long ride to the other side of the bridge, at least half a mile, if not more, and the Black Keep grows ever taller the closer the rider got to it. When he reaches the end of the bridge, two guards welcome him and one breaks away from his post to lead him to the throne room.

The Mad King, they were calling him now. The first missives had been sent out with that name two days ago. They had reached the rider, by word of mouth. He had picked up his pace, determined to reach the North before word of the denouncement of the former general arrived before he did.

When he enters the throne room, the former general is sitting naturally on the throne. He has a strong jaw, accentuated by its hairlessness. His dirty-blond hair is carefully groomed. His blue eyes are sharp and expectant on the rider. He wears plain clothes, simple but beautifully made. He wears no crown, despite his bid for kingship. His smile when he sees the rider is half cocked, like he’s about to make a terrific joke and can’t quite stop himself from smiling. He’s tall, taller than King Geoff.

“A rider from the South, no doubt bringing good news,” the former general says, his grin deepening as he nods a welcome to the rider. The rider has to remind himself that this is not his king, he is not required to bow. His straight posture feels offensive somehow, however, and he bends slightly at the waist. From the former general’s face, he guesses that the formalities in the North and South are different. The ex-general simply shrugs and resumes his smile.

“I’ve brought two letters, one from King Geoff and his advising council and one from the Honored Counselor for the Second,” the rider announces.

“Mogar, would you be so kind,” the ex-general says simply and the rider has to struggle to keep his eyes on the former general. The boy beside the ex-general, which the rider had failed to notice before now, shifts to attention, and with that movement the rider can hear the shifting of chainmail. When he steps forward the rider sees the exalted warrior of the Northernborn for the first time.

He’s much smaller than he imagined, shorter than the rider. And he’s young. But the unimpressed look on his face matched with the pure rage in his eyes make the rider take a backward step. His mail coat is covered by the same coat of arms as the former general wears, the sea with three stars inside the shape of a diamond. He is not wearing his famed bearskin cloak which only seems to be his attire during battle. However, the claws are fashioned into a necklace that weigh heavily on Mogar’s neck. He carries four weapons in plain sight. The rider counts them three times, halfway to hysteria. The hand that grips the proffered letters has clean but incredibly short nails, jagged on the edges as if bitten down rather than cut.

Mogar hands the letters to the former general and returns back to his post at the right side of the throne and stands, his eyes boring into the rider. The ex-general breaks the king’s seal, and his eyes scan the letter.

He lets out a bark of laughter and hands it sideways to Mogar, who glances at the letter, before shrugging and storing it in his outer heraldic tunic.

“We have a message for your king as well,” the ex-general says before gesturing to Mogar, who steps out of the room briefly. “Mogar will fetch it.”

Within moments, Mogar returns, holding a leather riding bag. He tosses it to the rider, who catches and reaches to open it.

“I wouldn’t look in that,” Mogar says blankly. His voice isn’t how the rider imagined it. Higher and softer, with a sharp accent. It doesn’t sound like the voice of warrior. More like the voice of the young teenager he is.

The rider pulls up the flap of the bag and nearly shrieks.

“Do tell Geoff that we enjoyed his assassin. Mogar particularly had fun with him,” the ex-general says with a laugh in his voice.

Inside the bag is the decapitated, disfigured and tarred head of an unknown man. The rider tries to breathe as he looks up at the now smiling face of young Mogar.

“Tell him,” Mogar says through nearly bared teeth, his fingers gripping tightly around the hilt of his sheathed sword. “The Mad King sends his regards.”


	3. The Best of Intentions

_Geoff watches the Eldest Prince, Skylar, stride around his chambers, pulling out the various accessories and robes he will need for the ceremony. His older brother hardly ever asked their servants to do anything that he could manage himself, which was one of the countless things that Geoff respected about Skylar. He was going to make an amazing king and Geoff was thrilled that he would be able to witness it from behind the curtains so to speak._

_“How is your leg,” Skylar asks, turning to look at his half-brother._

_“It hurts, but that crazy Northern doctor said it would for the rest of my life. That’s what happens when you fall off a horse and break bones,” Geoff says with a self-deprecating laugh. Regardless of how badly his ankle ached, he figured that the damage to his pride and the sound of his father and younger brother laughing at him would hurt longer and sting sharper than any broken ankle would._

_“Make sure and clean it daily. People have died from injuries like that. I am amazed that you are even walking on it so soon,” Skylar says, smiling even as he eyes the bandages around Geoff’s ankle._

_“I know. Back in my own village, there were hardly any doctors around and no one had the money to pay for one if he was available. I’m grateful I have access to care here, even if I had to travel all the way up to the Northern Keep for it.” Geoff explains causing Skylar to nod sympathetically. The journey couldn't have been a comfortable one.  
_

_“It’s so refreshing to hear your thoughts, Geoff. You understand the people of this country. I don’t think my father has thought about the commoners in years. He’s too obsessed with conquering other countries now and getting more wealth. That shouldn’t be what kings are about,” Skylar said, eyeing the ceremonial robes he’d spread out on his bed._

_“The King says that he is making sure we aren’t invaded, like when the treaty was signed with the North,”  Geoff recites the party line, one he’d read frequently on the flyers that messengers read from when they reported in the towns._

_“Don’t believe everything the honored adviser writes. He is paid to make sure the people believe what the king wants. However, an adviser can make or break the history of your reign. Never underestimate them,” Skylar reminds Geoff. He was glad his brother disliked the old adviser as much as Geoff did.  
_

_“Why do you tell me all of this? It’s not like I am ever going to be anywhere near the throne. Father will make sure of that.” Geoff mutters, letting his guard down. It was only with Skylar in the privacy of his eldest brother’s chambers that Geoff allowed himself to comment on his father’s decisions and how they affected him; the rest of the time, he tried to make sure his father never saw that he had any emotions._

_“I want you to be one of my advisers, Geoff. I think you can help keep me grounded and in touch with the people. You have a unique skillset that could really help me be a good king,” Skylar announces, turning back around to face Geoff._

_Geoff stares at him and says, “Father said that I would just live in the castle and he would find a place for me.”_

_“I have a place for you, brother. Your mind is sharp and you already have a good relationship with the Northern General’s son. You don’t let your emotions take you over. You don’t hold a grudge even though people don’t treat you well here. You want what is best for Theron. That’s what a King needs. That’s what I need.”_

_Geoff can feel the emotion catching in his throat. As such, his voice comes out a bit hoarse when he speaks next. “Of course, I will help you any way that I can.”_

_“Good. Now, I have a gift for you since you accepted. A brand new sword! I know you don’t have one.”_

Geoff opens his eyes as the memories of his older brother fade from the front of his mind as he lays under the big tree next to the large castle walls. Geoff carries that sword still, heavy on his hip-- a reminder of the brother he had lost. It was probably the finest gift he’d ever received, definitely the most appreciated. In the last few months, he’d only been receiving bad news and the heads of his recently slain assassins.

Geoff has not forgotten the first severed head his messenger had handed him. “A gift, sir. He told me to tell you ‘the mad king sends his regards,’” the messenger had said, seeming weak at the knees. The rage Geoff had felt at that moment has not slackened.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself. He knows in the darkness of his chambers, the only light being cast from the slowly dying coals of that evening’s fire, he will feel remorse swell in him. It will choke down his will and he will think weakly of Ryan’s deep laugh. He doesn’t think he’ll get the chance to hear that again.

Regardless of any weakness he may experience in the wee hours of the morning, Geoff tells himself he is currently consumed with anger. He fidgets with the hem of his clothes, realizes it quickly, and forces himself to lower his hands to his sides, to lay them on cool hard ground beneath him.

He has drank two wineskins already this morning. The pleasant warmth of the alcohol had been his only companion aside from his two attending servants, not that highborns tended to count them. He is staring up through the puzzle piece slots between the wide fan-shaped leaves to spot the blue autumn sky. The sluggish gurgling of the fountain, alongside the soft rustling of the fallen leaves from which he’s made his bed, work to soothe his racing mind. His bed crackles softly with every one of Geoff’s slow breaths. He closes his eyes and thinks of Ryan, trying to avoid thoughts of the warmth of his wide hands and focus instead on the cruel twist of his grin. It’s a failure like most things he attempts. He finds it easier to lie to others than he does to lie to himself. Earlier, he had tried to remove his thoughts from all things related to the war, to pretend it had never happened. He wanted to go back to a happier time. All the way back to when Skylar was still alive and he had not started to push Ryan away yet. But in his periphery he can see the great white walls of Wetiakker rising high above his head like a quiet threat. And he turns his mind to less insidious thoughts than the trap he seems to have built and snared himself in. Even the war seemed to be a more comforting subject than the thought of how terrible of a king he had become in such a short amount of time.

The peace of the courtyard, where he is spending his morning in hopes of avoiding his council, is ruined by Jack and Ray ’s arrival. He spies them trudging deliberately across the leaf-littered ground. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, but Jack’s long strides are accompanied by two of Ray’s quick-paced steps, and in no time he hears Jack’s deep voice call out his title.

“My King,” Jack repeats, closer now, and Geoff refuses to open his eyes. Hopes that when he opens them again, he’ll be standing at his mother’s sink and the king’s messengers will ride into her yard. And when they tell him his father has called for him at last, he’ll say no. He’ll go back to standing beside the old smith as he shows him the proper way to work the metal. He’ll see Ryan, sitting high on his horse, but he won’t know his name and will instead think only furtively of him from time to time as the handsome boy when he needs an image to reach completion in the dark of the night. That would have been a better life; one he was made for.

There is the loud crinkle of a particularly crunchy leaf by his ear and he opens his eyes by reflex, flinching slightly. Ray is standing above him, dressed in the typical court style. On the left side of Ray’s chest is the crest of one of the most influential clans of the North. Geoff sighs, thinks _so much for dreaming_ , and accepts Jack’s hand offered in assistance. He brushes the larger leaves carelessly out of his hair and off of his back and bends to grab his father’s crown which he places crookedly on his head. He watches Ray’s fingers twitch with the need to brush him clean and straighten his crown.

“What is it this time,” Geoff says sullenly. scratching at the nape of his neck where a piece of grass is tickling the sensitive skin there.

“There was another successful raid,” Jack says plainly, staring directly into Geoff’s eyes. His eyes are brown and accusatory, like his father’s. Geoff drops his gaze and pretends to pick off the dead grass and leaf bits from his formal clothes.

“What do you mean there was another successful raid,” Geoff says as calmly as he can.

“He means there was another successful raid, the seventh this past month, sixteen in the two months since you sent the reply to Ryan,” Ray says. And Geoff sincerely wishes that Ray didn’t know all of the information meant for his ears, but without him he wouldn’t be able to make sense of it. It’s like it was written in another language. He knows he was educationally crippled, probably intentionally, by his father. His older brother had tried to correct some of the damage. But Geoff had been too old, and the figures and language that was expected of a king escaped him. He had thought it wasn’t integral to the position, but he was finding himself deeper and deeper out of his depth.

“I’m not an idiot, Ray,” Geoff snaps, and calms himself. He is outside, his people can see and hear him. He can’t let his stress show. Jack sighs heavily and Geoff knows Jack can’t stand to work for him, that all of his decisions are poor ones. And even if Jack doesn’t question Geoff’s decisions, Ray certainly does. He looks to Ray, so slight next to Jack’s height and broad shoulders. He can barely stand to look at Ray these days. He risks a glance at Ray’s face and can see the rage boiling behind his usually docile eyes. Geoff breathes deep and looks back to Jack.

“I meant why hasn’t there been a halt to Ryan’s progress,” Geoff asks.  

“Well, there has been some progress. The last group we sent, there were more survivors. It’s inconclusive why they survived though,” Jack says. It sounds like sugar-coating to Geoff.

“They were deserters,” Ray said plainly, “More ran, that’s not anything to be proud of.”

Geoff keeps silent for a moment, trying to process, and he still doesn’t understand. There’s no reason more people should have deserted when defending against the raids. From what he understood, mostly from Ray-- the closest to a Northernborn expert there was in the council at this point-- raids were performed by small groups. At the most, one hundred men were sent to raid the river towns at a time. Ryan wouldn’t have risked Mogar or Dan in a simple raid. Raids were meant to be quick attacks, performed on towns with little defenses or opposition. When faced with such small groups, his men should have been able to at the very least stand and fight.

“My king, if you need a visual to understand the depth of shit we are in, I brought one of our swords,” Jack says, handing him the weapon. Geoff hefts it, and even without taking a swing with it he knows what is wrong.

“What are you using to make these swords? This isn’t steel,” Geoff asks.

“We’re using everything metal we can get our hands on, as you ordered us to do,” Jack reminded him.

“When I said ‘use cart wheels’, I didn’t mean it literally. Iron is a bad substitute for steel, Jack,” Geoff, said, gesturing to the sword in his hand. “This would break or bend in use, especially against the steel we’re working against. Have you ever seen a Northernborn’s sword, Ryan’s is a nearly perfect alloy, heat-hardened. It would destroy this piece of shit.”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you, my king. We’re working with inferior materials. Within the first few minutes of battle, everyone in our army has been disarmed. Aside from that, Ryan’s men have steel mail, perfectly capable of withstanding a blow from an iron sword,” Jack says. And Geoff resists the urge to shut him out. Instead he gestures to one of the nearby servants who hands him a wineskin, he drinks deeply of it. He already knows Ray’s disapproving face will be waiting for him when he opens his eyes.

“Surely, the last month has afforded us some time to train capable fighters,” Geoff suggests, hoping for a positive response. He receives a snort of laughter from Ray. “Yes, honored counselor, you seem to have something to say.”

“Honestly, a month of training? You thought a month of training was sufficient to fight Northernborns? Dan was holding a sword at five. That’s twenty years of training in nothing but fighting. There’s no way a farmer who’s never held a sword before in his life will survive against them in battle,” Ray says slowly, as if Geoff is a difficult child.

“Mogar did it. He surpassed Dan within three years, he fended off three Northernborn when they found him. He had never held a sword before,” Geoff says, feeling his voice begin to rise. He goes to drink from the wineskin again, but it’s empty. The third this morning. He gestures for the servant to fetch him another from the castle.

“Mogar is different; Mogar is exceptional,” Ray says proudly, as if he were a Northernborn. Rage and jealousy burn in Geoff’s gut. The acid rises, much in the way it had when Ryan had touched Mogar’s curls for the first time in front of Geoff, favoring Mogar with a soft smile-- one that had been Geoff’s once.

“If Ryan found a farmhand capable of learning weaponry in a few months time, then why can’t I,” Geoff says to himself, and he knows he sounds sullen and childish.

“There is a rumor that Mogar is magic, sent from the sea and all,” Ray says, almost lazily. Despite the tone being noncommittal, Geoff can feel the mockery behind it and it causes rage to bubble in his stomach. _You would think Mogar was sent from the sea_ , Geoff thinks bitterly, remembering the way Ryan’s eyes hardly ever left Mogar when they weren’t in the council room.

“I am your king,” Geoff says instead, “and you should listen to me.” He can see the way Ray is forcefully keeping his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. He feels powerless, which is the way he’s felt since Mogar stood over him a knife to his throat the night Ryan had escaped from prison.

“You’re to blame for this, Ray,” Geoff says wildly. The alcohol is singing in his veins and the rage is bubbling in his gut. He feels reckless, like an animal backed into a corner.

“How the fuck am I to blame,” Ray says, he’s outraged, as usual.

“The story, if it were working, there would be no deserters,” Geoff knows he’s reached the point where, were this before his kingship, he would have headed back to his chambers and slept off the effect of the wine. That’s not an option now, he’s left to work out his emotions in the open.

“You told me, ‘make him seem unfit and dangerous’. I did what you said. It is true we had thought it would make your people more willing to send resources, but the unexpected side effect is that no one wants to fight him,” Ray argues. staring directly at Geoff. Geoff lowers his eyes and tries again.

“I said that on your suggestion, there must have been a way to do it without making him seem too dangerous to fight,” Geoff replies.

“We agreed that the presence of Mogar prohibited us from making an argument that downplayed Ryan’s dangerousness,” Ray reminds him. “It’s hard to go back on what your father and I had worked on. We worked for years to make Mogar the fighter of the people, from their backgrounds, imbued with magic to fight their battles, and stronger and more capable even than the Northernborn. Of course they’re afraid.”

“Well then, we’ll send assassins to handle the situation,” Geoff says, gladly accepting a wineskin from the returning servant.

“No,” Ray says simply.

“What did you say,” Geoff asks, injecting a threat into every word. Ray stares at him, refusing to back down.

“I said ‘No’,” he repeats and Geoff stares him down. Ray doesn’t flinch. “There’s nothing to accomplish there,” Ray says plainly, “You’ve sent three already. They’re a waste of money and resources.”

“I am your king,” Geoff says. Even as he says it, he feels stupid. His father had said that at times, full of authority and people had always bowed to his will. No one tells the king anything is impossible. Geoff says the same thing that made every head in court bow when his father said it, and Ray scoffs.

“I’m aware of that, but king or no king-- it’s pointless and a waste of everyone’s time and money. As king you have _responsibilities_. Surely when you were having Ryan slip a knife in your father’s back you had some time to contemplate the people you would be ruling,” Ray says with acid in his voice.

Geoff can’t imagine the level of rage that must be showing on his face, it strikes him dumb and it paralyzes him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jack step back.

When his teeth unclench themselves, he hears his own voice break as he calls for the guards. His hands are shaking. How _dare_ he question his king’s decisions. How dare he invoke Geoff’s father’s name as if he had been some sort of paragon of virtue and wisdom. Geoff’s father had never given a shit about him. It wouldn’t have cost him anything to care about Geoff, to acknowledge his existence, and he’d denied all the same. King Aldric a kind man, a fair man? Geoff wishes he could agree.

“I’m sending you to the dungeons for a few more days to sort out your impudence, we’ll see if it will teach you anything this time,” Geoff says, trying to keep his voice calm. The guards approach to lead Ray away, but Ray gives them a look and, instead, Ray walks proudly of his own volition between them.

“My king, is it wise to make an enemy of your most cunning adviser,” Jack asks as he watches Ray leave, his smaller back framed between the two hulking guards that flanked him. His brother’s words of warning ring loudly in his ears but it just causes the anger to boil deeper.

“Is it wise to question your king when you’ve got a wife and children that would sorely miss you during your stay in the dungeons? I’m sure Ray would enjoy the company,” Geoff snaps, “And don’t think I’m unaware that you’re the one who told him about what really happened the night of my father’s death.”

Jack pales considerably and bows low, “My king, I will leave you to contemplate your options.” He turns and practically dashes across the courtyard.

Geoff fumes and looks down at his makeshift bed of that morning, it looks less welcoming than it did earlier, but he refuses to let Jack and Ray’s interruptions get to him and he lays on the grass bed. This tree has always given him such a comforting feeling when he tried to escape somewhere when everything got to be too overwhelming in the castle, but recently, even his favorite spot to cool down had become tainted by outside forces. He closes his eyes against the now noon sun. The suns warmth beats through the remaining leaves, which would normally leave him comfortably warm. Now, the warmth merely makes him feel too hot and irritable.

“My king,” Geoff hears and his eyes snap open, ready to redress whoever is interrupting his basking this time. It’s the servant who had fetched him his wine earlier. “Sire, do you require another skin?” The ire in Geoff depletes and he lays back against the ground and sighs, before addressing the servant,

“Yes, bring several, and then leave me. I do not need you to attend me today,” Geoff orders lazily and the two servants scamper to comply. Within moments he’s left alone with a handful of wineskins.

He drinks deeply from the first of them and stares up through the leaves at the sun. It sinks slowly from its apex. _She’s climbing down her ladder from the stars_ , Geoff thinks, _like in the nursery rhymes_. He sings a snatch of what he remembers, ad-libbing heavily. His mother never sang much to him, so he only knows bits and pieces from when he was quite young and his mother had spent her time on him instead of staring out of the window toward the King’s castle.

For the most part, his mind is blank. He knows he’s drinking heavier now than he was before, but he can’t bring himself to stop until he grows too stiff to lift the skin anymore. It is at that point that the sun reaches the point directly in front of him, he closes his eyes rather than move. He can see the warmth of it behind his eyelids; it dyes them deep orange and spots dance across them. He breathes deep and sighs heavily, with that his back relaxes and the warmth becomes comfortable again.

A cool wind blows from the North, brushing across his right side. He knows in a few weeks that wind will become frigid. The cold will freeze the rivers and harden the soil. They will close the doors to Wetiakker, conserving their stores and holding court exclusively inside. The courtyards will be nothing but dead leaves and silence. For now though, the cool wind remains a subtle reminder of coming winter. Winter can wait, though, and Geoff rests comfortably instead.

The orange behind his eyelids fades and gently he slips into dreams.

_The head of the table is empty and his normal seat is taken. There is no room on the lower tables and Geoff thinks, “where is my father?” Everyone looks up when he enters the room though and they stand waiting for him to sit. He panics and looks around the room and his eyes catch Ryan’s. Ryan grins crookedly and tilts his head toward the seat next to him. That spot is the seat between the General of the North and the Head Advisor; it’s the King’s seat, his father’s seat._

_Ryan’s never led him wrong though so he walks as quickly as he can to it. He feels awkward with everyone staring him down. He normally feels awkward at these events regardless. He’s the bastard son and that’s all anyone recognizes him as. Normally, he garners very little attention except for the whispers of gossips as he walks by. But today, everyone stands for his entry and only sits once he does. Even after sitting, everyone’s attention is still on him. The boars are on the table untouched, the meat sweating._

_“Begin the festivities,” Ryan whispers to him and Geoff is confused at first, but remembers that his father always gestured to begin the feast.  Haltingly, he flourishes, and he can feel his hands shaking. No one seems to notice how choppy the movement was or how his chest is full of the itching, clawing feeling of panic. Instead, the jesters come out and begin dancing in the clearing in the center of the three tables. The highborn begin reaching in with their bare hands and tear at the cooked meat, which parts easily under their hands._

_Once he’s sure that no one is going to reproach him, he turns to look at Ryan, who is smiling and laughing. His eyes are blue like Geoff remembers, and he laughs low and short. He can’t look away from Ryan’s eyes, it’s like they’re pulling him under. He can see the darkness in them now that he never noticed before. He can see that they are secretive and closed off._

_He thinks terrified of the time he visited the Black Keep, and Ryan had stopped on the great bridge between the mainland and the Keep proper to stare into the dark waters below. His eyes had been dark then, reflecting the water and Geoff had halted too. “This is where she fell,” Ryan had said, his voice full of sorrow, “this is where my mother fell.”_

_“I thought she--” Geoff began before he could stop himself. And Ryan had looked at him, smiled, not crooked this time, but straight and fake. Ryan turned from him without a word and spurred his horse on. Everyone knows she jumped._

_His thoughts return to the hall, and he manages to pull himself away from Ryan’s eyes. The room is dark, the tables are clean, and Geoff’s neck is tired. He goes to lift the crown from his head, but he can’t. It sits too heavily and he can’t take it off. It weighs on him heavier and heavier and he wishes he could lay his head down, but he’s terrified if he does he won’t be able to raise it again._

_Ryan stares at him with both pity and mirth in his eyes, his eyes dark like the sea. “This is what you wanted isn’t it, Geoff,” he asks. Mogar stands behind Ryan and his smile is full of glee._

He wakes, and it’s night. His breathing is rough in his chest, scraping his insides. He sits in order to breathe deeper and his head swims. He’s still drunk then. His body is covered in sweat, and he tries desperately to calm down. His heavy breaths convert to rough sobs, sharp in his throat. They fight their way out to echo around the empty courtyard. Realizations begin to crash down around him like sharp raindrops. He’s a terrible son and brother. He is a horrific king. Worst of all, he’s completely alone.

He shoves his head between his knees and calls on what little strength he has left to will the panic in his chest to loosen. He counts, brokenly, to ten. _I can be a good king. I just need to find a way._ He thinks quietly. Calmer, he lifts his head from between his knees, and looks around the darkened courtyard. The brightness of the walls catch what little starlight and moonlight fall inside of the courtyard making the walls easy to make out, but the trees around the courtyard are mostly just outlines. It’s colder now than it was before, the breeze definitely leaves him with a chill. The cold is making his once-injured ankle ache, but he’s long use to the throb and he can ignore it for the most part.

He knows any direction he tried to walk back to his chambers would be difficult without assistance. It’s dark, he’s still drunk and his ankle is throbbing. He does want to go inside, but asking for help from the night guards is almost more than his pride can take. He contemplates laying back on the dry leaves, but he looks at the high walls, which cast shadows deeper than the pitch black of night. Those shadows lay close to bottom of his makeshift bed, and make him reconsider camping out in the courtyard. With just the thought of the darkness closing in on his toes, he decides to make the long climb to his bed. He’ll only have to reach the first entrance to the castle proper before he’ll meet a guard that can call on a servant to help him up the stairs. He can send another servant ahead to light a fire.

He begins to summon his will to stand, but then he hears a cracking noise from the tree he’d been laying under. He turns and looks at it and encounters a horrific sight. On one side of the tree is a large knot of wood, it stretches out like a branch, but twisted and gnarled. At about arm’s length the knot grows bigger at the base and Geoff can see that the knot is actually growing larger right before his eyes. From all of his staring at the base, he almost fails to notice that the tip of the branch-like a protrusion is growing lighter than the rest. The tip is green, but it quickly becomes flesh colored and, as the base grows thicker and begins to protrude, more and more of the protrusion becomes flesh-colored. It only takes a moment of Geoff’s transfixed staring to realize that the protrusion has taken the shape of a human arm with glowing green fingertips.

Geoff’s scream strangles itself in his throat and all that comes out is a hoarse squeak.

The newly-formed arm reaches back and pushes at the tree and quickly a head, torso and second arm has formed, slowly the woody texture recedes to be replaced by what appears to be normal flesh and hair. What was just a flat piece of bark becomes a face, a boyish one with a too large nose and a wide smiling mouth.

“Can I get a bit of help,” the tree’s voice is surprising pleasant with what Geoff would call an extremely thick Northern accent, but he doesn’t know what to call it since it’s coming out of a tree. The tree sticks pers hands out expectantly and Geoff stumbles to his feet, sluggish and drunk, and grabs a hold of the hands. They’re soft and warm, not at all what Geoff expected when he took hold of them. “Alright then, pull,” the tree orders and Geoff stumbles back until they both hit the ground.

Geoff looks over at what appears to be a boy roughly between sixteen and twenty-three (he was never good with ages). He looks down this newly formed body: hips, legs, and feet all intact. But no genitalia. There’s just pale, smooth skin. He darts his eyes away quickly.

“What the hell are you,” Geoff asks, hating the way his voice breaks in shock.

The tree pulls what Geoff thinks is an exaggeratedly offended face and says “I’m a tree sprite, Geoff.”

Geoff blinks, and says, incredulously “how the hell do you know my name?”

“ ‘Course I know your name, you talk to me all the time, which is why it’s a bit rude for you to go around asking me what the hell I am,” the tree sprite says fussily and folds pers legs up so that pers feet are touching and pers legs are splayed to either side like two triangles back to back.

“Excuse me, but you were just shit out of a fucking tree like some kind of-- some kind of-- I don’t know what, and _you’re_ giving _me_ a lecture. You scared the shit out of me, you fucker,” Geoff yells. The tree sprite looks a bit abashed and shrugs. “You have to have some other way of getting out of the tree without coming out like that,” Geoff says, trying to illustrate his horror of the tree sprite’s entrance by waving his hands at the now vacated tree.

“Truth be told, I have no idea how I did it, I just heard you crying and wanted to help and just thought really hard about it and came out,” the tree sprite says, scratching at the back of pers neck. The sprite's neck, Geoff sees now, has tiny sprouts growing out at the base of the hair and down the nape of pers neck, bright green and leafy with three or four flowers peppering off the small branches.

“I wasn’t crying,” Geoff said absently, focused on the strange plants growing off the tree sprite’s neck.

“Yeah you were, you cry all the time. Especially out here, you looked a bit smaller last time you did though,” the tree sprite says, looking a bit sad at the idea of it. Geoff doesn’t register the tree sprite’s emotions, instead focuses on how embarrassing it is that the tree he cried under whenever his father upset him was actually _listening_ to him. Geoff shakes the embarrassment off and tries to put it behind him, the tree sprite doesn’t seem to mind or judge him for crying. That was a rare occurrence.

“So, what should I call you,” Geoff asks and the tree sprite makes a noise of glee, smiling at him. They stare at each other for a moment.

“Do you not have a name,” Geoff questions.

“I just told you it,” the tree sprite says and makes the noise again.

“Ggvn,” Geoff tries, frowning. And the tree sprite grins, tilting pers head to the side.

“That’s really close,” the tree sprite says.

“Okay, well. I don’t think the noise you made is really pronounceable by humans, so how about Gavin instead. It sounds kind of like your name,” Geoff offers.

“I like it,” Gavin says and stretches pers legs out straight, drawing Geoff’s attention to pers groin again.

“So are you a male tree sprite or a female tree sprite,” Geoff asks.

“A what,” Gavin questions back, crinkling pers nose.

“Male or female, it’s like girls and boys,” Geoff says, but Gavin still looks confused. And for a tiny moment, Geoff considers showing per his genitalia and explaining, but if Gavin has nothing down there then concept of someone’s sex was kind of pointless and dumb anyway. Besides, Geoff knew even if Gavin did have a penis, that didn't define a male or female anyway. Tree sprites more than likely didn't even have genders and if they did they were more than likely as complicated or as fluid as humans could be.

The tree sprite shivers, the green glowing bits of pers fingertips flicker for a second making Geoff’s eyes focus on them. _Cold_. Geoff quickly pulls his royal cloak off a branch of the now split tree. He wraps it around Gavin quickly. The tree sprite seems to bask in the material, turning around in the silk several times before settling down. Per smiles happily at Geoff who feels a bit of warmth in his bones that definitely did not come from his alcohol consumption today.

“Alright, so-- Gavin the tree sprite,” Geoff whispers; “So what the hell am I going to do with you?” **  
**


	4. Wearing Thin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note about Gavin's pronouns. A tree sprite is gender neutral, therefore their preferred pronoun is per. We apologize if there are any issues when reading it, but it is very important for us to use the correct pronouns since Gavin in agender in this story.
> 
> CW casual ableism throughout, mention of sex with someone underage, also sex with a tree sprite happens.

When Geoff wakes up he is positive that he dreamed one of the wierdest nightmares of his life. However, when he looks down to see what seems to have crowded him to the edge of his royal bed; Gavin, the tree sprite, is still laying peacefully where per fell asleep. It is certainly a strange sensation for Geoff, not the whole tree sprite business though that was incredibly odd. More so, it was the simple fact that anybody he slept with usually left that night. The only real exception to that rule had been Ryan before he began curling around Mogar every night. But even during his time with Ryan, the maids, stable boys, bar women, tavern-goers and whoever else he found himself in bed with, usually stayed for the sex and then left, always at Geoff’s request. It’s a feeling he’ll have to get used to if Gavin stays here, which is what per apparently intends to do.

Geoff had snuck them successfully up the stairs the night before, dodging the guards while Gavin giggled from where Geoff had tucked per beside his own chest. Per had thought it a splendid game, like a high-risk version of hide-and-seek. Thankfully, even with Gavin’s lack of situational awareness, Geoff had managed to smuggle them up the stairs to the royal chambers and into his rooms. Once there, Gavin had announced that per intended to stay with Geoff until he was “no longer sad”. When Geoff had refused pers assistance, Gavin had pulled a confused face while he looked around the room and then said, “I’m not sure how to turn back into a tree, anyway.” Per’d then ducked pers head and turned a bit red as if embarrassed by the idea.

Gavin’s embarrassment had faded rapidly though, and within minutes per was walking around the room naked, inspecting every little detail while Geoff had begged per to put clothes on, which was another first for Geoff. Once pleased with the numerous options Geoff has pulled out of his own closet, per had slipped on an extremely loose pair of Geoff’s breeches and an old tunic, declared perself tired, laid down on Geoff’s bed-- despite Geoff offering one of the other rooms-- and gone to sleep.

Geoff didn’t wanted to wake Gavin this morning and had contemplated leaving per a note, only to realize that Gavin probably couldn’t read. He’d thought about just leaving the room and hoping for the best, but the thought of Gavin running around the castle asking questions about household items and flaunting pers green fingertips, had forced him to elect staying in until Gavin woke.

Geoff had been carefully trying to ignore any physical attraction to the sprite since he had brought per to bed last night, but the way per had splayed across his bed was enticing. Geoff had avoided sex since taking the crown leaving him desperate. Normally, this would have been an unfamiliar feeling. But recently, his encounters had begun to leave him with a feeling of discomfort after, as if he had missed out on a great joke that was made at his expense. Geoff had felt self-conscious and would curl in on himself afterward. The joy and exuberance of sex seemed to have left him. Instead, he simply felt as if he was going through the motions, as if sex was some routine duty he was expected to fulfill.

If this were five years ago, Ryan would have been thrilled. Their relationship had ended primarily, Geoff had been reminded frequently, due to Ryan’s desire for them to be exclusive. Geoff had never desired to be pairbonded to anyone. Something that a Northernborn, Ray had told him once, could never understand. One of life’s greatest achievements for a Northernborn would be to pairbond. An idea that Geoff found too old-fashioned to be anything but boring and restrictive. Regardless, Southborn typically held pairbonding in lower regard than Northernborn, although they had the same laws regarding the rights of those who had been pairbonded.

Gavin shifts on the bed, causing Geoff to turn towards per. “Good morning,” he says, when Geoff sees Gavin’s eyes are open, though still blurry. Though still blinking at the sleep in pers eyes, Gavin smiles wide and flops around excitedly on the bed. Geoff sighs, already exhausted from pers energy.

“I have work to do,” Geoff says, “you have to stay here and remain hidden. If anyone comes in the room, just keep your hands hidden for the goddess’ sake. 

Gavin nods and opens pers mouth to speak, but Geoff just says, “Under no circumstances, can you leave the room.”

“Alright,” Gavin says, “But can I look around here?” Gavin gestures to the room, and Geoff nods, before turning and exiting the room. He needed to figure out how to make it look like it was his idea to release Ray from the dungeon rather than a necessity. Geoff knew he would never be able to do any of that if he was too busy thinking about how pretty Gavin’s green eyes were. He definitely couldn’t accomplish anything if his mind began to wander about what sex would be like between then. He had more pressing matters...even if the thought of those greenfingers tips stroking his cock caused Geoff to involuntary sigh from desire.

****

“You think he’d give up on the assassin route,” Dan says dryly, looking at the corpse that Mogar had laid before him. “He’ll empty the treasury before he gets an assassin past you.”

He claps his hand on Mogar’s shoulder and smiles fondly at his former pupil. Mogar nods his head, but doesn’t smile. He keeps the same disgruntled expression, one that Dan’s gotten used to over the years and expects. Mogar threatens with a smile, and so he prefers to not be subject to it. Not now that the kid can put up a good fight. Dan may be Northernborn, but he’s no fool. He knows when he sees a fight he can’t win.

“What was this one’s angle,” Dan asks, looking at the mutilated corpse that lay at his feet. Mogar had shown very little mercy to him.

“Typical infiltrate and frontal assault,” Mogar says, and Dan rolls his eyes. _That was a foolhardy plan under the best conditions._ “He came in with the village representatives during the grievances’ hearing.” Now that idea had something to it, but it had been ruined by a frontal assault. These assassins seemed to be getting worse and worse at actually doing their job.

One had tried to insinuate himself as a servant, assuming that he could attack Ryan in his bed. That plan had fallen apart when the assassin realized that Mogar slept in Ryan’s bed as well. A fatal oversight of his part. But this plan lacked any finesse at all, either Geoff was running out of quality assassins or he didn’t have the money to pay them.

“How is Ryan,” Dan asks. Mogar looks up at him, the top of his brown curls barely reaching Dan’s shoulders. Still so small, Dan thinks fondly.

“He’s fine. The representatives grievances’ weighed on him, but the Northernborn are strong. So, even though they lack food, they support his claim to a Northern throne in Svartrsund,” Mogar answers easily before locking eyes with Dan.

“Your pairbond,” Mogar asks. Dan would smile if he weren’t so worried about Ray. Michael’s fascination with pairbonding had meant that Dan had suffered through many question and answer sessions with him. Even the mention of Ray frequently had Mogar’s attention, because he may learn something new about pairbonds.

“He’s written back twice, but the letters are sparse and frequently only reference old material from my previous ones,” Dan admits, turning and resting himself in a nearby chair, stretched out as languidly as possible, given the stress that he’s under.

“Geoff’s probably holding them in exchange for compliance,” Mogar says.

“I doubt he’d sink that low,” Dan replies, shocked at the implication. 

“What? It’s not like he cares about breaking the law. He had his ex-lover murder his family for power,” Mogar deadpans, picking at a bit of drying blood on his sleeve. 

“I just don’t see a reason for it,” Dan says. Mogar shrugs, and it’s oddly harsh for such a small gesture. Dan knows that Mogar is not unbiased when it comes to Geoff. His distaste for him is well known, and Dan can hardly blame him. If Ray had attempted to pairbond with someone before him, there’s no doubt that Dan would only be able to think the worst of them for multiple reasons.To be honest, Dan has never found Geoff to be particularly worthy, but Ryan had thought he knew better, and so Dan had ignored his own personal concerns.

In hindsight, he should have recognized the worst parts of Ryan and Geoff’s relationship and seen them for the emotional manipulation that they were. He had been too wrapped up in Ray to honestly pay attention. Ryan had also never truly complained. Of course, there were the usual comments of how Geoff hadn’t really slowed down his bed-hopping or how Geoff had insulted another Northernborn because he simply refused to learn any of their customs. But Dan had seen how they acted when they were alone together and when the idea of them being pairbonded began to circulate, Dan had only thought it was the next logical step. No one could argue that the look in Ryan’s eyes was anything but love when it came to Geoff.

However, Geoff’s inability to settle down meant that it was never actually going to work out. Ryan wanted to be monogamous, as most pairbonds usually were. He wanted Geoff to visit the sea with him as was the custom of the Northernborn when they wanted to officially seal their pairbond. Geoff would have more than likely refused that tradition as he did with all the other Northern ideas of manners, lifestyle, and way of thinking. It was one of the many things that Dan loved about his own pairbond, Ray. He had never seen someone study the Northernborn way of life so intensely as Ray.

But Dan knew that it was the talk of children that brought the well approved of pairing to an end. The Northernborn had many orphans, either from raids or their parents dying in battle, so if two men or women pairbonded and wished to have a child, adopting a young orphan was the usual route. Geoff, being of the South’s mentality, which encouraged blood purity, refused to adopt any child. This was only exacerbated by his mistreatment as the king’s bastard. An orphan would not be his blood and therefore, they couldn’t be his child. That notion went against everything the Northernborn believed. Dan, after his parents had been killed in battle, had been, and still is, considered Ryan’s brother since he was taken in by his family. Northernborns could never understand the harshness of blood, so Ryan never would have been able to accept that.

The breakdown between Geoff and Ryan was only a matter of Ryan having a push in the right direction. That push had come when, just a year after they had found Mogar, Ryan had returned from battle in the Western lands, eager to spend the night with Geoff, only to find him unwilling to leave the side of a scullery maid to see him. Ryan had left, frustrated, and never returned to Geoff’s bed. Within a few years, there were rumors that Ryan and Mogar shared their nights in a less than innocent way.

Whether or not Dan approved of those rumors, Mogar being far too young at the time, the reality of their relationship now was one that he approved of, though haltingly at first. He feared that their seemingly stable relationship was only such because Mogar had no choice, but again and again, he had shown that he had a strong and independent voice in their relationship. Mogar had no problem putting his foot down and telling Ryan exactly what he thought of his ideas and strategies. He only follows Ryan’s orders without hesitation when it came to the actual battlefield. Watching Mogar grow into such a fine warrior and independent and admired person left Dan feeling as proud as a father. He had practically raised him anyway. Dan would have disagreed with any other pairbond for Mogar, because he believes Mogar deserves someone who was just as worthy as the fierce little warrior. Dan truly looks forward to the announcement of Mogar and Ryan going to see the sea.

It would have to wait though, Dan thought as Ryan strided into the council chamber.

“What have you found, Ryan,” Dan asks lazily from where he was lounging in his chair, moving only to show his palms to Ryan. Ryan returnes the gesture distractedly. Only Mogar did not show his palms, but that was expected, pairbonds and pairbonds-to-be frequently forwent the greeting gesture. The three had long since abandoned the formalities of Southern courts, bowing and rising when the king entered the room. They followed the social graces they had been raised with, rather than the ones that had been forced on them.

“All was going well until an assassin tried to throw a dagger at me,” Ryan says bitterly.

Dan chortles quietly, “a dagger, honestly.”

“As terrible as the attempt was, it’s still not something I particularly wanted to deal with this early in the morning. Especially not in front of the village representatives,” Ryan practically hisses.

Dan shrugs easily, “I’m not so concerned about it. You’ve always been a strong leader, and, of course, Mogar is goddess-sent. They aren’t going to think any less of you because some piss poor assassin failed to even give you a scratch.”

“True, assassination attempts at this point only add legitimacy to my right to rule, but they are a nuisance. Luckily Mogar was there to stop it in its tracks,” Ryan sends a brief, thankful smile to Mogar. Dan doesn’t look at the warrior to see his reaction, he’s sure it would be embarrassing and besotted. “The concern now is food.”

“Didn’t you ask Lindsay to take charge of food gathering and storage,” Dan asks.

“Yes, and the raids are going beautifully under her. She has a talent for ransacking that almost worries me. The problem is, the outer towns are no longer producing enough food to sustain themselves and us,” Ryan answers.

“So, take the South’s food,” Dan replies. At Ryan’s look, Dan continues, “The south has used us for weapons since your grandfather, _goddess protect him_ , signed the treaty. Once winter comes, our people will be crowding the halls of the Black Keep. The rivers will begin to freeze and raiding parties will be more difficult to send out, and they’ll take longer to return. We need to worry about ours and not theirs. The Northernborn are survivors, but they’re not immortal. Do you want to survive on wolf meat again?”

“Not particularly,” Ryan says drily.

“Then, order Lindsay to begin taking more. We cannot survive the entirety of winter on what we have now, not unless we give a half proportion everyday. Thank the goddess that the rivers haven’t begun to freeze yet.”

“It’s still mid-autumn. They won’t freeze in earnest until mid-winter. Don’t worry so much, General. The goddess will preserve us,” Mogar says with more conviction than either of them could ever possess. Dan is temporarily distracted by just how much Mogar’s voice carries now, how boldly he speaks. He’s not at all the same terrified boy they found as a serf. And Dan knows that, no matter how much fun he pokes about Mogar being goddess-sent, that he must have been. His presence has saved Ryan, no matter how much he may deny it, he saved him. Now Dan can not say what Mogar saved Ryan from, but his brother has definitely changed for the better. The sheer fact of the matter was that whenever Mogar says that the goddess will or will not do something, he knows in someway that Dan and Ryan will never be able to. It is as if he has some sort of connection with her that even her sons lack. Well, Dan and Ryan were at least considered the goddess’ sons since their actual mother had jumped from the bridge all those years ago. Dan knows that he believes she became the goddess and hopes that Ryan does as well. His brother hasn’t spoken of her since. Maybe, that pain was _what_ Mogar helped save Ryan from. Whatever it was, Dan let out a silent prayer to her about the rivers anyway.

He simply huffs and says, “Well, we can only hope.”

***

The loud creek of the wooden door wakes Ray up from his slumber in his dungeon cell. The clammy feel of his skin and the soreness in his muscles make him regret refusing Geoff’s invitation out of this hopeless place. It has been two weeks since he had seen anyone but the guard who brought him his food.

However, he didn’t see the usual guard. Instead, he saw ten glowing green dots in the darkness. He blinks quickly, thinking that he has somehow began to become delusional from a lack of outside contact and quality food.

“What are you doing down here,” a voice asks and Ray knows he’s lost it then.

A figure steps into the small bit of sunlight that streams through a crack of a window and Ray finds himself absolutely floored. Across from him stands someone around his age and height, but with bright green eyes that seen to glow when the light hits them just right and what looks like leaves, twigs, and flowers growing out of pers neck and hair. What in the world caused him to dream up this madness?

“Can you hear me,” the voice asks again and Ray’s heart nearly lurches at the accent. It sounds a lot like Dan’s.

“Yeah. Just….trying to understand.” Ray say quietly to himself, but the being outside his cell seems to nearly burst into happiness when he talks.

“Ray!” Per squeals, reaching into the bars to take a hold of Ray’s cold hand. They both pull back quickly, breaking the contact.

“Who are you?” Ray demands, his hand tingling from the touch.

“You’re sick, Ray. You shouldn’t live down here, it’s cold and makes my head hurt.” The being says looking upset by the dungeon’s conditions.

Ray only blinks and the sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he walks over to the corner of his cell and just begins to weep. His shoulders shake harshly as the reality of him truly losing it dawns on him. He wished Dan was here.

A soft noise brings him out of his tears to see that the figment of his imagination might actually be real. Per is currently stretching as far as per possibly can into the cell. Pers arm is grasping at the straw as if it will make Ray come closer. Ray swallows down a few more tears as he watches the sheer sadness in his new acquaintance's’ face.

“What’s your name?” Ray sniffles, wiping at the tears in his eyes.

“Gavin,” Per says, still trying to reach Ray. He scoots up then, until Gavin can finally touch him.

The electric current of heat that Ray’s feels instantly causes him to lose his breath. His whole body feels rejuvenated as if he’s just taken a hot shower and ate the best meal of his life.

“You’re a sprite of some kind, right?” Ray says, using his knowledge of countless books to figure out who could possess such an ability. He knew that there was still some magic left in the world. It was hidden though. Well, most of them were hidden. The Black Keep’s tutor/doctor Joel who had taught Ryan, Dan, and Mogar was clearly a rock sprite. His eyes gave him away. Everyone that didn’t realize he was a sprite just thought he was crazy. Gavin’s eyes held the same life in them.

“Tree sprite.” Gavin replies, stroking Ray’s hand with pers thumb. Ray could feel the steady heat radiating throughout his palm and into his blood. It felt absolutely amazing.

“What are you doing down here?”

Gavin frowns at the question as if Ray had asked something completely obvious. “I’m here for you.”

“What?”

“Ray! You always read next to my tree. I liked to make sure you had lots of shade so you would pick my tree.” Gavin explains. Ray tries to let that sink in. He knew exactly what tree Gavin was talking about. The one in the courtyard, far enough from the palace, but still within it’s walls. He had spent countless days under it. It was even where Dan first asked him to be his pairbond.

“I didn’t know,” is the only response Ray can form. Gavin nods as if per understands exactly.

“Geoff said I couldn’t explore the castle but I knew you were here somewhere. Why are you down here?” Gavin asks.

“I….Geoff put me down here,” Ray breathes, feeling as if he has fallen down into some strange world.

Gavin turns pers head to look around and frowns deeply. “Why? This place doesn’t feel bright.”

“It’s not. It…,” Ray’s mind suddenly screeches to a halt when he gets an idea. “Gavin, I want out of here. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Ray watches Gavin contemplate if per can. Ray knows that he is completely manipulating his newfound magical friend, but if he can get out of this castle and onto a horse, he can get away from this place and to Dan.

Gavin stands up, breaking pers physical contact with Ray but strangely, and thankfully, the warmth still flows through Ray’s veins. Looking at the lock, Gavin closes pers eyes and then seems to focus all his magic onto it. It sparks for several minutes before Gavin falls harshly onto the ground.

Ray gasps out, scrambling as he is now the one trying to reach through the bars to touch Gavin. He can feel the warmth inside himself draining and it causes him to nearly panic. The guilt is about to eat him alive when he sees Gavin’s eyes open again.

“Gavin, Gavin, are you okay? I had no idea that would hurt you. I thought your magic would just be able to break the lock. I’m so sorry. Come here, let me see if you are okay.” Ray begs, he barely has any medical training let alone knows nothing about a tree sprites health, but he feels terrible.

Gavin comes easily, taking Ray’s hand. Ray uses his free hand to check Gavin’s eyes and ears for any sign of trauma. Not really finding anything that looks out of place, Ray sighs as leans back against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Ray whispers. “I just want to see Dan again. I miss him.”

“Where is he?” Gavin asks, taking slow breathes with pers eyes closes in slight pain from what seems to be a headache.

“He’s in the North.”

Gavin shakes his head, looking truly terrified. “The North is a terrible place. No trees grow. Why is he there?”

“It’s where he lives. He’s fighting Geoff,” Ray explains.

“Why? Geoff is very nice. He’s just sad.”

Ray takes a minute to set aside his absolute hatred for Geoff to let that thought filter through. He tries not to think about it for long though. He only shrugs.

“I will tell Geoff to let you out?” Gavin suggests, looking unsure.

“I don’t want him getting mad at you. I don’t think you would be able to stay down here for long,” Ray says looking at the dimming green fingertips. Gavin clearly needed to be near plants and earth. “Just keep our visit a secret.”

Gavin looks unsure, but nods. “Geoff says I’m a secret too.”

Ray only hmm’s quietly. “Could you get me some paper though, I’d like to write Dan a letter.”

“Yes, yes!” Gavin nods enthusiastically, excited by the prospect. “And I get to visit you often?”

Ray only laughs softly. “Sure, if you want to come down here, I’d love some company. Just don’t get caught, alright?”

Gavin nods instantly. “I’m a secret, I know.”

***

Gavin watches as Geoff paces in front of per. He’s in a state of panic, Gavin can tell. Though nothing he tells per makes much sense. Not much of what Geoff has ever told per has made sense, but per tries pers best to refocus and nods along as if per understands. It seems the longer they have been together, several full moons now, the less Gavin seems to understand about this whole war business.

“The raids have increased and they’re taking more, which wouldn’t bother me, honestly, except that my men are turning tail more often. He’s got the red-headed lieutenant heading them now, and she’s getting to be as feared as Dan or Ryan themselves,” Geoff rants, drinking steadily from a cup, undoubtedly filled with wine. Gavin nods, per recognizes the names, Geoff’s mentioned them before. Per also knows them from his secret (he has to stop himself from getting excited at the thought) visits to the dungeon where Ray is.

As far as per understands it, Ryan and Geoff are fighting because they did something bad together and Geoff tried to blame it all on Ryan. Ryan is apparently the King in the North according to Ray, but also NOT a king according to Geoff. Dan, Gavin knows, is Ray’s pairbond, which is sort of like an ástirband. Per knows this because when Gavin mentioned it, Ray said that was the word for it in the old language of the North, which was good relationship, Gavin guesses.

“What about Mogar,” Gavin asks, it’s a name that is mentioned repeatedly by Geoff, and occasionally by Ray. “As feared as Mogar,” Gavin asks.

“No one is as feared as Mogar,” Geoff spits, before taking a particularly sharp turn in order to continue his pacing. “And it seems that he’s being kept close to Ryan, as usual.

  
Gavin loses interest again, and begins to think of pairbonds and how lovely they sound. Gavin remembers the old tree sprites, long ago, when Gavin perself was just a sapling. How they would dedicate themselves to each other, and grow close together, settling quietly until they themselves became nothing more than nearly-soulless trees, resting so deeply next to each other, that they were often thought to be dead. It was a nice sight, such comfort and rest.

But Gavin, young as per was, zipped from tree to tree, fighting against the desire to rest because it was the cause of settling. And settling alone wasn’t for him, although it was for some. Pers habit of running saved per in the end, when magic was razed from the land by force. Per didn’t know of any tree sprites, at least not any close enough to call and speak to. And even if per did, they were probably deep asleep by now.

Besides, per’s happy here with Geoff. Several moon cycles had passed since Gavin had left the trees to be with Geoff, and since then per’s not had much inclination to leave. At night, Geoff curled behind per and he would sleep-snuffle into Gavin’s neck, making the leaves in pers hair rustle quietly. If Geoff would let per, Gavin would forgo clothes when they slept. Regardless, Gavin reveled in the feeling of Geoff’s calloused fingers slipping softly under pers shirt. Pers new skin was so sensitive! Distinctly different from when per felt everything though thick tree bark.

When Geoff’s hand slipped under pers shirt, per knew that pers favorite part of sleeping in Geoff’s bed was about to begin. First, Geoff would slip closer to Gavin’s back, his breathing getting shakier and louder in pers ear. Geoff’s hands would slip all over Gavin’s skin grasping and tweaking, pulling on his nipples (such curious things, what were they for?), and pressing his nose into the leaves and hair at the base of Gavin’s neck. His hips would move, slowly at first but more desperately as time passed, against per.

  
Before long, Geoff’s hand would slip from around Gavin and move to between his own legs, grasping and jerking on his penis, whatever that was for Gavin was still at a loss. Geoff would do this until he gasped and shuddered against Gavin.

The part that came after was Gavin’s favorite, when he would kiss at the back of Gavin’s neck and pet pers arm and thank per. Currently Geoff was drinking, which meant it was more likely to happen tonight and Gavin was excited for the possibility. Per wiggled pers green glowing fingertips against the wooden headboard and tried not to grin too widely.

Geoff staggering brings Gavin’s attention back to him. Gavin pats the bed beside per, thinking that Geoff has drank too much again, but when Geoff sits he grasps at his ankle, hissing painfully.

“What’s wrong,” Gavin asks.

“It’s an old injury,” Geoff hisses, breathing through his teeth. “Nothing to worry about,” he says when he sees Gavin’s concerned look.

“Can I look at it,” Gavin asks, reaching toward Geoff’s leg. Geoff had not refused pers touch yet, even in sensitive places so even though Geoff looks wary; he extends his leg toward per. Gavin rolls the end of Geoff’s breeches up, and skims pers finger down Geoff’s leg, from mid calf to below the ankle. As Gavin moves pers finger, per can feel the muscles moving back into place, flesh that had been torn shifting. Geoff’s hand comes down to grip at pers shoulder, squeezing it almost painfully tight.

Gavin looks up and Geoff’s mouth is hanging open, his hand loosens on pers shoulder. Gavin feels Geoff shift his ankle in pers hand. Bending it up first, back and forth like a hinge. Then, tentatively, like it wasn’t something he was sure he could do, he swivels it.

“What did you do,” Geoff asks. 

“I fixed it,” Gavin answers, “If you had told me earlier I would have done it before.”

“You-- you fixed it,” Geoff says, then again he says, “You fixed my ankle that’s been damaged since I was sixteen.”

“Yes,” Gavin answers simply.

“ _How_ ,” Geoff questions, still carefully swiveling his ankle. “You just touched it!” Then Geoff’s face changes, he stares at Gavin blankly, “Of course, you came out of a fucking tree. How could I be so blind?”

Gavin is confused, but per’s sure per’s not supposed to answer that last question.

“Wait, so…” Geoff begins, “You’re magic?” Gavin nods. “And you can use magic?” Gavin nods.

He’s not sure why Geoff is so shocked, Gavin is a tree sprite. Geoff laughs somewhat manically, his pupils are bigger than normal. “Can you do other things?” Gavin twists pers face up, thinks about how per can sing to flowers and they’ll grow. Per thinks about the time he lived on an old farmer’s land and helped his fields grow until he died peacefully in his home. Then per nods.

Geoff smiles brightly, and Gavin feels perself puff up with pride.

“Come here,” Geoff says, and it’s the voice he uses when he’s pressed against Gavin’s back. The one Gavin only hears when Geoff whispers pers name over and over, while his hand works between his legs. “I want to try something new with you.”

Gavin gladly stands to come closer, but Geoff holds out his hand. “Take off your clothes first,” he orders. Gavin listens, slipping off the breeches and shirt. Per hates them anyway. When per looks up, Geoff has slipped his clothing off as well and has slid up the bed to rest near the pillows. “Come on,” he says, and Gavin climbs up slowly.

When Gavin goes to lay on pers side, Geoff gestures for per to stay on pers hands and knees. “Lay your head down, but stay up on your knees,” Geoff says, and Gavin abides.

“Good,” Geoff comments, he takes the oil from beside the bed and starts to rub it between his hands. “I’m going to put this on your thighs,” Geoff says and Gavin nods hearing the static crackle in pers hair from where it’s pressed to the pillow. Geoff reaches behind per and Gavin feels his hand on pers thighs, rubbing the oil over pers smooth skin, upward to where per guess per would have something if per was human.

“Okay, now squeeze your thighs together real tight, as tight as you can,” Geoff tells per and Gavin does pers best.

“I’m going to put my dick there,” Geoff says. That’s a little odd, Gavin thinks, but if it’s what Geoff wants and per gets petted and loved on after, then per’ll do it. Geoff disappears behind Gavin completely. Gavin tries craning pers neck to see him, but all per can catch is a glimpse of him. Per turns pers attention to pers thighs instead. Doing a bit of a headstand to look underneath perself.

There is nothing for awhile, but per feels Geoff graze against pers thighs and then, Gavin feels pressure at the back of pers thighs. Geoff pushes in, Gavin remembers that per’s supposed to keep pers thighs clenched tight and does pers best.

The sensation is sort of nice. Geoff’s cock is thick, but the skin is soft and the slow slide of it between Gavin’s thighs sets tingles all over pers body. Per watches with fascination as the tiny hairs on pers body raise and leave little bumps all over. It feels like when per is cold, but distinctly different. It feels like when Geoff had given per a satin shirt for the first time, like a thin layer of soft cloth was brushing gently all over pers body.

The appearance of the thick red head of Geoff’s cock distracts per from pers own thoughts. The head bumps against Gavin’s stomach, smearing a trail of precome and oil there, before disappearing and then reappearing just as fast. The unsettling, yet somehow comfortable, feeling that caused the bumps doesn’t fade as Geoff presses his cock between pers thighs.

If anything, it gets stronger. Especially when Geoff leans over per so that Gavin can feel his breath puffing against pers exposed spine, his hips slapping against Gavin’s ass. Gavin doesn’t know where the feeling will take per, it feels as if it’s leading somewhere. As for now though, per enjoys the simple existence of it. That it’s different and new from what pers had felt before. That it seemed alive in pers stomach, where all other manner of feelings also were. As Gavin thinks about the possibilities of what the feeling could be trying to tell per, Geoff shudders, huffs out Gavin’s name weakly and comes.

The come (that’s what Geoff calls it) spurts out over pers stomach and on the sheets. Geoff gives a few more pumps of his hips before laying off to the side, pulling Gavin down with him.

  
Gavin moves easily, per would like to know what the feeling means, but this is pers favorite part after all.

Geoff turns per so that Gavin’s head rests on his chest. He pets pers hair a little bit harder than he usually does, his muscles a little more worn from holding himself up.

  
“Gavin, I think you may have just won the war for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have posted [Geoff's fanmix](http://mogarsmadking.tumblr.com/post/80301568653/a-soundtrack-for-a-simple-souvenir-of-someones) on our tumblr. Check it out.


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